


Lantern

by tzzzz



Series: Twilight of the Fifth Sun [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Ancient Devices, Episode: s01e03 Hide and Seek, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Jealousy, M/M, Orphans, Pedophilia, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzzzz/pseuds/tzzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Earth has been destroyed and John and Rodney have been evacuated to Atlantis. In this chapter, the search for John's father leads the kids to interesting new people and more adventure than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lantern

So, let's recap. December 21st 2012, the world ended. People in America were asleep, or in the middle of a particularly amusing late night skit in which Conan O'Brien had his eyebrows waxed. The Hong Kong stock exchange was up. A skinny blond girl was just about to be crowned Australia's Next Top Model. A flock of birds was lost somewhere above the pacific ocean and the last living member of the order _plesiosauria_  was watching the sunrise over a Scottish lake. There was a coup in progress in the Democratic Republic of Congo and in the forests of Colombia, John Sheppard Senior continued to wage a war whose outcome would be forever undecided.  
  
If you're looking for reassurances, there's only one: it was painless.   
  
***  
  
Meanwhile, in a galaxy far, far away, John Sheppard  _Junior_  was letting Rodney McKay pull him to his feet. He didn't want to do the whole fainting damsel thing (especially not when  _Rodney_  was the one who had screeched like a girl), but his knees were rubber-weak from treading water against the current and he felt the adrenaline flow out of him like the water dripping down his neck.  
  
"Easy. Take deep breaths," Rodney ordered. "I said deep, you idiot!" John might have been amused if he didn't feel like he might cough up a lung any second now.   
  
A few feet away, three Marines were giving CPR to the woman he'd pulled out of the ocean. Her skin was pale in the light of two moons, her lips a hollow crystalline blue and her hair a dark mass gripping her face like claws. He stumbled backwards, suddenly afraid. He'd never been this close to death before. He'd never held it in his hands.   
  
He shuddered, transfixed by the swift efficient motions of the Marines. They'd clearly done this before.  
  
Then there was a hand on his arm, stronger than the small, willowy body it was attached to might suggest. Rodney was thin, almost boney; John could tell from the way his ribs pressed up against John's back, holding him up. He had a strong jaw and blue eyes that shone with panic and concern. He was the first person who looked, really  _looked_  at John since he'd gotten here, something that allowed him to lean back into the meager warmth the other boy provided. "Jesus, it's not that cold out here. How can you be like an ice cube? C'mon, we need to find you some dry clothes before you die of hypothermia."  
  
"I'm not going to die," John snapped, still watching the medical scene unfolding before them.  
  
"You could if you go into shock. Come on." Rodney gave a put-upon sigh, reaching for John's shirt. "What in the hell do you think you were doing back there?" he whispered. "You could have  _drowned_!"  
  
"So could that girl," John coughed, pointing to where the medics were hastily yanking a mask over the girl's face.   
  
"She wanted to die!" Rodney whispered back. "Who knows who she could have lost back on Earth?!"  
  
"She didn't really want to die." Suicide was for cowards, or at least John's father had always said it was.  
  
"Yes, and you know this because?"  
  
"I just do," John replied, looking away from Rodney to where the gurney and the medics were disappearing into a nearby building. He didn't feel like accepting the jacket Rodney was wrapping around him, but he could feel shock settling in, like the time he'd fallen off the roof of Mr. Henderson's old barn and broken his leg.   
  
"Hey! Watch it!" John batted his hands away. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Take off your shirt and you can put on your hoodie."  
  
Right, he'd forgotten that he took it off before jumping in the ocean. Even though the night was warm, John felt numb, grateful to Rodney for maneuvering his limp arms into the sweatshirt and zipping it up.  
  
It wasn't until he saw several people in grey uniforms running towards them with a gurney that John remembered that he wasn't supposed to be here at all. He didn't know who these people were or what kind of military base this was and he had no idea what they'd do if they caught him wandering around on the other side of the city from where he was supposed to be. As far as he knew, he was one of the few people who hadn't known about this whole thing from the beginning. He didn't want to think it, but this could have been part of the  _plan._  "Come on," he turned to the other boy, "we have to get out of here."  
  
"No," Rodney ordered, even as John struggled weakly in his arms. "We're staying right here until we get a medic to look at you. There is absolutely no way you're dying on my watch, even if it  _is_  due to your own monumental stupidity. That was an  _alien_ ocean you took a dive into. Who knows what kinds of toxins you might have swallowed?"  
  
John shrugged. "It tasted fine to me."  
  
That comment apparently warranted an eye roll. "Yes, because sea water is such a delicacy. You're lucky you didn't get eaten by a two headed alien whale. Now, I think we came in over here," Rodney pointed to a panel in the metal wall of the building. "Though it's hard to tell. I got lost in the MoMa once, took my parents hours to find me. But then again, all modern paintings look pretty much the same so it's a wonder anybody has ever found their way out of there at all. Hey, do you think--"  
  
Did this kid ever shut up? "Look, Rodney," John growled. "My body, my risk to take, and honestly, I'd rather risk a cold, even an alien one, over whatever punishment a group of soldiers who pulled me off of a planet without any cause or warning might have for me."  
  
"Hey, they saved you from the apocalypse. I'd call that a good cause."  
  
John shrugged. "You don't know that. Now, seriously, let's get out of here before they notice anything." The gurney with the rescued woman was already departing and once the immediate crises was over the soldiers were bound to notice that there'd been some people around to do the rescuing.   
  
He had to admit that the two of them weren't particularly stealthy, with John coughing and barely on his feet and Rodney complaining in the worst whisper John had ever heard. "Are you sure about this? Because nothing screams guilt like running from the scene of the crime."  
  
"Saving a drowning girl isn't a crime, Rodney."  
  
"Then explain to me again why we're running away?" And also John really hoped Rodney knew where he was going, because so far as he could tell they were headed for a wall.  
  
"Now the door was around here somewhere. It just appeared when she walked up to it. Motion sensor maybe. I think we came in over here," Rodney pointed to a panel in the metal wall of the building.  
  
John pushed away from Rodney, shivering as he propped himself up against the wall and wondering where the hell the door could be. Was it possible that Rodney had the wrong building, despite the fact that John didn't see another one within 100 yards?   
  
"Open sesame," John sighed wearily.  
  
They were both surprised when the wall slid open. "There is no way that worked," Rodney grumbled.  
  
"I think this city might be telepathic." John shrugged, trying to play it off as not a big deal, though in reality it was seriously cool. He just didn't want to freak Rodney out more than he already seemed inclined to be.  
  
"And I think you might be crazy, not to mention masochistic and utterly deluded. And how is your hair still sticking up?"   
  
John shrugged again. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare pair of pants, would you?"  
  
"You mean you didn't bring any?" Rodney looked incredulous, if not downright horrified.  
  
"They pulled me out of school. I just have these wet clothes and my backpack, though I don't know what good Basic Calculus, Topics in US History and Macbeth are going to do me out here."  
  
"Calculus, huh? I'm auditing a class on topology over at the university, or I was before the whole--" Rodney waved his hand as though that explained it. Jesus, as though the destruction of a whole fucking planet could be encompassed in the wave of a hand. "Then again, maybe you're here for your lemming-like instincts and not your brains."  
  
John shook his head. "I wouldn't be here for being smart." Though the occasional teacher would try to convince him otherwise. "I," he looked down at the dry sneakers he clutched in his hand. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to be here at all."  
  
"Yes, well, now you are. I doubt they're going to open up another Lorentzian wormhole and boot your scrawny ass back to a non-existent planet, so there's no use dwelling. Head over to the bathroom and I'll bring you something to wear."  
  
John nodded, making his way slowly through the sleeping crowd to the bathrooms. Ironically, he really should have remembered his towel. But the moment the thought crossed his mind, he felt a warm jet of air, like a blow dryer, skirt against his chilled skin. John sighed, slowly extracting himself from his wet pants and leaning against the wall with his forehead pressed into its cool metal panelling.  
  
So this was it: an alien city in the middle of an ocean, with body dryers and telepathic doors. The ocean had seemed endless and the moonlight too bright and he wondered if this strange metal island floated as alone as he felt on this planet. Were there continents? If there were forests on this world, were they teaming with life, strange and wonderful? Maybe they'd sent a refrigerator through along with all the people - a frozen Noah's Ark like the shaving cream bottle in  _Jurassic Park_. Perhaps they'd populate the desolate forests with jaguars and grizzly bears and they'd flourish here like they hadn't in the presence of so many people. Or maybe John would never see another animal again in his lifetime, not even a dog or a cat.  
  
He'd stopped even the pretense of drying himself when the door slid open and Rodney stepped inside, before immediately turning around, covering his eyes and holding out a pair of sweatpants, fluffy looking (but mismatched) socks and Superman briefs. "I wasn't looking," he announced. "Though, speedo-tan? Seriously?"  
  
John felt himself blush. "Thanks." He grabbed the clothes and started pulling them on.  
  
"I'm sorry if you prefer boxers, or if they don't fit or anything, it's just that I don't find the idea of a perfect stranger's junk rubbing up against the inside of the last pair of sweatpants I might ever own to be particularly appealing. And who knows when we'll be able to do laundry? It might even be some kind of sonic cleaning method, which while seriously cool and theoretically even more effective against pathogens than soap and water, still strikes me as kind of gross."  
  
By the time Rodney was done with his rant, John had pulled on the underwear and the pants (which only covered to about mid-calf and looked decidedly dorky). He grabbed a hold of Rodney's shoulder to pull on the socks before yawning and leaning a little against the other boy. "So, where are we sleeping?"  
  
" _We_? No, no, there is no we.  _I'm_  going back to where I left my sister and  _you're_ finding your own martyr-shaped bedroll and hunkering down there. And you're returning my clothes in the morning."  
  
"Yeah, about that," John ducked his head in what he hoped was a bashful and appealing way (he didn't want to have to beg). "I don't actually have a bedroll. I, um, came from the group over by the East Pier. That's why we're in here and not out there with the soldiers, remember?"  
  
"Of course you did. Why would anybody listen to the guys with guns when they ask you politely  _not_  to go exploring and to stay in your designated areas for your own safety and protection in a city filled with telepathic doors and God knows what?!"  
  
"I thought you said my 'telepathic doors' were a delusion."  
  
"Yes, well, you obviously believed it and thought it was a good idea to go traipsing around anyway, not really helping your case for sanity."  
  
"So you'll let the crazy person stay with you then?" John tried for charming, but he could never tell if that worked.  
  
Rodney gave probably the most put-upon sigh John had ever heard before nodding. "Fine, but you get the military-issue blanket. My sister and I have very sensitive skin. Eczema runs in the family, though through careful use of moisturizing products, I've managed to protect myself."  
  
That statement was just begging for some kind of playful barb, but John ended up yawning instead. It had been a long day and he'd just taken a swim in an alien ocean, not to mention the disastrous event he wasn't even acknowledging at this point.  
  
"C'mon," Rodney ordered (not that John had a choice, considering that he was being pulled by the sleeve). "You look exhausted."  
  
John had been hoping that Rodney's sister would be seventeen and gorgeous, with Rodney's same blue eyes and obvious (though also obviously annoying) intelligence. Instead he got a girl not more than six years old with blond Shirley-Temple-esque ringlets, snuggled beneath a pink comforter. Rodney slid in beside his sister, who turned instinctively into his warmth, before handing John an Army-green blanket.   
  
"Thanks," John yawned, spreading it out (though he had to curl his legs in to keep his feet from sticking out the end). Rodney was right - it was a little scratchy, but better that than pink and totally gay. He looked over at Rodney, who was tucking his strangely endearing ski-jump nose into the face of what appeared to be a pink unicorn. "Goodnight."  
  
"'Night," Rodney replied.  
  
This was how they began their life on a new world.  
  
***  
  
Rodney awoke to a harsh hacking sound and an over-warm shivering body pressed up against his side. He was used to waking with a head resting on his stomach or an elbow in the chest (the price of a little sister) but he'd never be accustomed to the harsh cough coming out of John as he struggled in his sleep. How could Jeannie sleep through that death rattle? Rodney moved quickly to try to wake the other boy and get him propped up. Hopefully he wouldn't hack up any mucus onto Rodney and Jeannie's only blanket (even if the thing was covered in pink unicorns, it was an important possession).  
  
John did nothing more than groan, a dead weight against Rodney's chest as he maneuvered his fevered body up. Alien pneumonia. Rodney hated always being right. Well, not the being right part, because he definitely enjoyed that, but the being right about bad things bit. But it looked like John had been a little bit right as well, because one of the Marines from earlier, Soldier Barbie, was striding over to them through the crowd, a kind of sidearm straight out of  _Star Trek_  held carefully at her side.   
  
John didn't even stir as she approached, just turning his head into Rodney's chest and coughing some more.  
  
"I knew you'd show yourselves eventually," Soldier Barbie smirked. "Now, how about you tell me why you two went running off while clearly in need of medical care?"  
  
"We saved a woman's life!" Rodney exclaimed. Trigger-happy Barbie should be congratulating them, not standing there with her hand on a weapon and motioning to the two other Marines in the building to back her up.   
  
"And we're all very happy about that, but nothing says guilty like running from the scene of the crime."  
  
"That's what I said!"  
  
Her glare managed to be both challenging and chilling at the same time. "And yet you still made a run for it."  
  
"He made me," Rodney gestured to a still-sleeping John, glancing around him nervously at the half-awake refugees around them who were starting to gawp and stare. "He thought we'd get in trouble for leaving the compound. I told him he needed to see a doctor and, speaking of which, he's currently dying of alien pneumonia, so would you mind moving it along please?"  
  
"Bates?" she spoke into her radio. "We've found them. Everything is under control. We need to take the swimmer to the infirmary. The other one's all yours."  
  
Rodney was too preoccupied with John coughing himself into wakefulness to pay much attention to Soldier Barbie, or her name when she tried to introduce herself: Lauren Cartman or something.   
  
"That was very brave what you did back there," she said, reaching out to pat John's shoulder. Rodney was gratified to see him flinch away. Who was she to make pronouncements like that anyhow? As though they even cared what she thought.  
  
"If by brave, you mean suicidal and moronic."  
  
"It  _was_  brave," Barbie retorted.  
  
"He wouldn't have even had to, if you'd been doing your job and keeping watch. I mean, how lax does security have to get in order for you to let depressed people just wander about with a great big suicide pit of an ocean a stone's throw away? She just walked right up to a  _wall_  and it opened for her! Is that really all it takes? And furthermore, if it's up to two kids like us to do the rescuing, then your little military contingent here is woefully--"  
  
"That's enough," Cartman snapped, not seeming intimidated in the least. "What's your name anyway?"  
  
"McKay. Rodney McKay."  
  
"Well, McKay, you are going to talk to our lead security officer," she nodded to one of the other soldiers who had materialized behind her, "while I take your little friend to the infirmary."  
  
She grabbed John roughly by the arm, dragging another hacking cough out of him. He tried to pull away, but either he was too weak or she was tougher than she looked.  
  
"Sorry, sweetheart, but we need to get you some oxygen and warm bed, ASAP. Hey, Stackhouse, why don't you get over here and help carry the kid?"   
  
John finally succeeded in yanking himself away from the soldier's grasp, but it cost him, making him double over in another coughing fit. "No, I can walk," he protested hoarsely. "Please."  
  
She looked skeptical, but reached out a hand to pull him to his feet.  
  
"Just give me a minute." John waited for her to nod and turn away before he gestured Rodney closer and whispered. "Listen, I know you don't owe me anything, but could you do me a big favor?"  
  
"How big?"  
  
John looked like he wanted to make some sarcastic comeback, but with an ever increasing number of Marines and bystanders hovering nearby, he didn't have much time. "Just-- find my father, John Sheppard Senior. He'll know what to do."  
  
"Okay, kid, time's up," one of the Marines said, grabbing Rodney by the shoulder. "Time for a quick chat with Sergeant Bates."  
  
"Promise me," John whispered, as Soldier Barbie put a guiding hand on John's arm and started leading him through the crowd and out the door.  
  
"Promise," Rodney was forced to shout after him, before another Marine was shoving him forward and away from where Jeannie was currently curled up, small and alone beneath her pink comforter. She looked almost doll-like in the moonlight, too angelic to be real. These guys had to be real heartless bastards to leave her alone and vulnerable like that.  
  
"Wait, you big oaf! What about my sister? I just can't leave her here!"  
  
"Just a quick word with Bates and I'm sure you'll be free to go. With all the security threats of the evacuation, the man doesn't have time to waste on kids. We'll have someone look after your sister. Don't worry."  
  
Somehow Rodney was less than reassured by that, but what else could he do? Struggle and make Jeannie watch him get dragged off by a group of fascists? He looked over at where she was still slumbering soundly. Rodney crossed his fingers, hoping that she wouldn't wake up alone.  
  
***  
  
"For the last time, what were you doing outside of your designated area at three in the morning?" Sergeant Bates, as it turned out, was a short, anxious man with caramel colored skin and dark, darting eyes. He was also criminally stupid and possibly trigger-happy. Rodney glared.  
  
"I already told you: I followed the woman."  
  
"And what were you doing up at that time?" Bates leaned forward, fixing Rodney with an intense stare. Unfortunately for Bates, staring contests were the one form of intimidation that didn't work on Rodney. He'd met enough chess and math competitors with more fierce stares than Bates. Bates' glare might had promised violence, if Rodney weren't a kid and Bates a member of an institution that generally did not favor beating children. But at a science fair, some of the kids were easily capable of building weapons of mass destruction, and smart enough to get away with it, so all in all, Rodney was only mostly terrified.   
  
"Well, supposedly, we've just been evacuated from our  _planet_  because the whole thing's about to explode in a flood of zero point particulate matter, so excuse me if I was a little on edge. But since you're obviously a government-trained  _robosoldier_  I wouldn't expect you to understand."  
  
Bates slammed his hands down hard on the table. "I understand plenty, McKay. My family, my little brother, they were all back on Earth. What I don't understand is how you know anything about zero point modules." Zero point modules! God, it was Chernobyl all over again, only on a mass extinction scale. The awesome power of science. It almost made Rodney not want the genius to wield that kind of power. Almost.  
  
Rodney crossed his hands over his chest. "I'm not an idiot. In fact, I'm a genius. That's why you brought me here, isn't it?"  
  
Bates stood, walking behind Rodney like every cliché interrogation scene in every thriller Rodney had ever seen. If he thought it might have done any good, Rodney would had wet his pants. "You might be a genius, but not even a genius can come up with ZPMs from just the news that we're evacuating, at least not without seeing something he shouldn't have."  
  
"Maybe your monkey-brain can't understand it, but I'm just that smart." Rodney tried for confident, but wasn't convinced that he succeeded.   
  
"When you tell me everything you know, we'll see who's a monkey brain."  
  
"Oh, that's mature." Not that lack of maturity promised lack of bruising in the end. Maybe John was right about what these people would do if they caught someone outside of their section. Project Lifeboat had certainly been a legitimate product of the shadow organizations of many governments. Rodney's interaction with the CIA and CSIS proved this, and yet that didn't guarantee that these organizations followed the standards set by the laws of the countries that created them. Their very nature demanded they operate outside the established rules.   
  
"It doesn't need to be mature. What I  _need_  from you is the truth. Why were you outside your assigned living area? What information did you access? Who is this other boy and how did he contact you? When you've told me these things, then I will _maturely_  consider your release."  
  
"I told you. I followed the woman because I was curious. I know curiosity killed the cat and though I really am a cat person, and I should obviously know better than to poke around secret alien bases when I have fascist American goons to threaten me, but I didn't, okay? I saw her walk out. I followed her. She jumped in the water, I called for help. The other kid appeared out of nowhere and saved her, end of story."  
  
"And the ZPM?"  
  
"Back on Earth, I heard a woman. The blond - you know the one: short hair, beautiful blue eyes. She said something and I put two and two together. If you had more than two brain cells to rub together and even a rudimentary knowledge of high energy physics, you would have drawn the same conclusion." Rodney finally sucked in a breath of air, summoning all the courage and confidence he had to fix Bates with a determined stare. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a six-year-old sister who's just lost her parents and her planet, no thanks to you morons, so if you'd show me back to the barracks--"  
  
"What do you mean, 'no thanks to us?' We saved you. Seven billion dead and we saved _you._ " Maybe Bates had been reasonable once, but Rodney could see the despair in his dark eyes. Seven billion dead. Rodney wasn't even sure the human mind was able of comprehending such a tragedy. He knew that his mind, as brilliant as it was, couldn't even come close. Seven billion atoms, sure. Seven billion stars. The finite infinity of the universe, but death on that scale and the death of potential, the infinite number of possible generations snuffed out in an instant. It wasn't necessarily impossible to comprehend, just too horrible a thought to undertake with your sanity intact. So he did the smart thing and forced himself to ignore it.  
  
"And I'm grateful. Trust me, I'm grateful. But you people are the reason for those deaths. If nobody's stopped and explained it to you in language you can understand, it's not my fault."  
  
"I don't know who you think you are but--"  
  
Luckily for Rodney, Bates was interrupted by the door swinging open and the woman who had introduced herself as Dr. Elizabeth Weir earlier that day stepped through, flanked by two more soldiers. "What is going on here? Sergeant, have I ever given you the impression that it's okay to interrogate  _children_?"  
  
"Hey! I'm not a--" Rodney protested, before he realized that qualifying as a child meant he was disqualified from the interrogation.  
  
"With all due respect, Ma'am, this 'child' has somehow gained knowledge of ZPM research. He's claiming that the SGC is responsible for the loss of Earth."  
  
Dr. Weir ignored the question, preferring to fix Bates with a stern glare. "That does not make this acceptable. I understand you are facing a great loss. We all are, this boy included. And the only way we're going to get through this is by using thread of our common humanity to pull together, and that includes treating each other with compassion and respect. Until I have determined that the refugees from Earth have been settled, all security personnel will check in with a superior officer before disciplinary actions are taken, no exceptions. You will be reporting to Lieutenant Ford." She nodded to one of the men on either side of her. "Lean on each other; don't take your frustrations out on the people you are charged with protecting."  
  
"Come with me, Rodney," she ordered, reminding Rodney of his English teacher, with her precise, distinguished speech and her tired, serious eyes. "I'll take you back to your sister."  
  
"Thank you," he replied warily. She had long legs and walked at a pace that forced him to struggle a little to keep up. Her cheeks were flushed with exhaustion, but her uniform was pristine and she carried herself with a dignity that Rodney could appreciate. She was kind of hot for an old lady.  
  
"I'm sorry about that. He's under a lot of stress, as you can imagine."  
  
"It's no excuse," Rodney added crossly. He might have been just one child out of thousands of refugees, but he helped keep a woman from drowning today (even if John did most of the work). He had the right to protest a system that repaid his heroic nobility with interrogation and psychological warfare.   
  
"No, it's not. And it won't happen again."  
  
"How do I know that?"  
  
"Lieutenant Ford will keep him in check. We're not monsters, Rodney. We're just a small group of people trying to accomplish an enormous task. Have patience with us." She lead him down a different corridor, leaving the other soldier in her detail behind with a nod.  
  
Once they were alone, Dr. Weir stopped, grabbing Rodney's arm a little too tight for comfort. Even as she turned to him, Rodney could sense a little of her polished, diplomatic mask slipping. He wasn't usually this perceptive, but he supposed that maybe even this show of heartfelt emotion was strategic for her. "You really think that we did this?"  
  
"Didn't you?" From the blond's comments, Rodney was almost positive, but he could have been mistaken. He wanted to be, because he couldn't imagine living controlled by the people who had destroyed his planet, his  _home_ , as dysfunctional as it might have been.   
  
Dr. Weir half chuckled morosely, running a hand through her tangled hair. "You know, I haven't even had the time to discuss it? The evacuation is taking all of my attention and will be for at least another month." Rodney debated not answering, but she'd just rescued him from Practical Advanced Information Retrieval 101, so maybe he should get on her good side.  
  
"Well, then I can give you a likely scenario. Your goon back there mentioned zero point modules, which I assume means that you've found a way to utilize zero point energy and I couldn't help but overhear that one of your scientists was talking about the modules charging themselves. Of course, the natural entropy of energy dissipation is such that the only reason they would do this on their own is from an overabundance of high energy particles in our own space-time. I can think of a few things that might do this. One is experimentation with zero point energy from our own universe, which people like yourselves, using zero point modules for power, might be interested in."  
  
"Those experiments were being conducted here, not on Earth." If he'd heard that a day ago, Rodney would have been impressed. But now, how could he be, after those experiments had destroyed a  _planet_?  
  
"Well, then another explanation is some rift, possibly in subspace. Most likely at the core of the planet, where the available energy is the highest. But the effect of a wormhole shouldn't cause that." He snapped his fingers, thinking. "I know! It could be a phasing problem. An experiment to cross between dimensions, maybe."  
  
"Merlin's cloaking device."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"The Ori fleet was coming. We had no choice. We had to pull the whole planet out of phase."  
  
"The whole planet?" Rodney gasped. All of this time when he'd been reading about it - he might have been out of phase even then.  
  
Elizabeth nodded.  
  
"Well, that is explains it then. The core of a planet is dense, very dense, and whatever device was used probably only had a limited capacity. You were dragging the dense core of the planet through subspace like an anchor. Who knows what kind of instability that produced? Enough to create a cascade of exotic particles, clearly."  
  
"You mean--"  
  
"You destroyed the world in order to save it," Rodney replied. He'd imagined this, or something like it. It was one of those scenarios that he dreamt up late at night, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom in the dark, unable to shut off his mind. After that whole fiasco with the CIA and the nuclear bomb, the principal had sat him down with a pile of history books as part of his punishment. So he'd grudgingly learned about Oppenheimer, and Fermi, and Szilard. The science traced back to Einstein and Rutherford, back to Newton and the Galileo and the quest for truth itself. It had been a quaint attempt on behalf of his small minded teacher to educate him about the dangers of the science he saw as only a game, but what he really learned from everything wasn't the lesson of Harry K. Daghlian, who'd died to the pursuit of knowledge, but the lesson of James Chadwick, and perhaps the greatest lesson of human history: that the creation of a destructive truth from science was as inevitable as war itself.  
  
Dr. Weir gulped, stopping just outside the door of the hangar where he and Jeannie were housed (oh, god, Jeannie. He'd left her alone with these people!).  
  
"I have to go. My sister--" he started.  
  
She nodded, turning to him, her eyes shining with grief, maybe guilt. "You're a very smart boy, Rodney."  
  
"Well, your government brought me here for a reason," he grumbled. Not that he wasn't grateful to still be alive, but he couldn't even begin to comprehend the magnitude of it. Maybe this woman could. She looked it, from the way she'd seemed to age years in the space of a few minutes. "I'm a genius."  
  
"Yes, you are. And maybe, we'll be enlisting your help in the future." She smiled. It was hollow and condescending and indulgent in a way that made him positive that Dr. Elizabeth Weir had never had any children. She certainly didn't seem to have  _met_ any teenagers. He was brilliant, but she was also lying.   
  
"Just do me a favor," he added at the last minute, already scanning the bustling room before him for Jeannie. "Let me visit John when he's recovered." Rodney didn't know why he said that. He didn't owe the other boy anything. He certainly didn't need another hanger-on to his brilliance when he already had Jeannie to deal with, but he'd made a promise. And Rodney McKay hadn't made very many promises in his life. Promises were a thing between friends, after all.  
"John?" she asked.  
  
"The other boy. The one who pulled the woman out of the ocean."  
  
"Right. I'll arrange it." She squeezed his shoulder. He could feel how cold her fingers were even through the material of his shirt. "You did good, Rodney."  
  
He should've protested that he didn't do anything, but then he spotted Jeannie, just by her purple corduroy jumper and her out-of-control blond curls. That  _botanist_ held her in her lap, rocking her back and forth and hugging her. Dawn had broken, the light shining down through the open panels of the hangar's ceiling and sparkling off the sea of groggily stirring refugees below, but in this sea of suffering, Rodney only had eyes for Jeannie.  
  
They'd been on their own less than 24 hours and he'd already abandoned her, a six-year-old who'd just lost her parents. Thank god hell was a bunch of mumbo jumbo made up by moronic fanatics, because after this, Rodney would definitely be going there.   
  
"I'll be in touch," Dr. Weir called as Rodney ran through the crowd, launching himself at the unsuspecting red-headed botanist and yanking his sister from her arms.   
  
"Mer?" Jeannie sniffled, practically toppling him over when she wrapped her arms around his neck to be carried like a toddler. "Where'd you go?"  
  
Rodney sighed. "I'm sorry, Jeannie. I didn't mean to go." He did his best to rock her, like the botanist had, but she weighed a lot more than she looked, so he ended up slumping back onto a nearby cot and rubbing her back in what he hoped would be a soothing gesture.  
  
"Mer. I thought," she hiccuped, sucking in a sob. "Don't go. You won't go again?"  
  
"Not if you don't want, Captain," he whispered, hoping she'd remember their game, when she was Captain Janeway and Rodney was Mr. Spock.  
  
"No?"  
  
"No." He tried petting her hair, but ended up getting his fingers tangled. "Don't you ever brush this monster? My god, and I get in trouble for bad hygiene habits!"  
  
"But where did you go, Mer?"  
  
"I stupidly tried to be a good citizen and there was this crazy boy and a fascist security officer and an strangely attractive diplomat and I got here as soon as I could."  
  
"Kay," Jeannie murmured, burying her face in Rodney's shoulder with a yawn.   
  
"She's been crying nonstop for the past hour," the botanist put in, staring at Rodney accusingly.  
  
"Hey, it's not my fault! If you have a problem talk to that psycho, Sergeant Bates. And if you want to tell me what to do with my sister, well, get your own kid. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a little girl to put back to bed."  
  
The building was beginning to buzz around them, with people already lining up for tea and water and restrooms, or quietly muttering among themselves, but Rodney laid his sister down on their cot, checking to make sure no one had stolen his laptops during the night, and settled at her side, pulling the pink pony blanket over them both and drifting off to sleep.  
  
***  
  
John woke up with a start. He'd dreamed of floating, all alone in an endless sea with nothing but a pod of whales circling him, singing a strange story of cities, sinking and rising, worlds ending, people dying. Their voices sounded melancholy but pure, like the even, echoing tone of the singing bowl used for meditation.  
  
Something covered his mouth and his chest felt tight and bruised. He struggled into a sitting position, swatting at the thing covering his mouth.  
  
"Easy, lad," a voice came from his left side, accompanying warm hands that felt his forehead and tilted him up into a sitting position. "Deep breaths. Don't fight the mask." The man had a thick brogue, like Scotty.  
  
"What?" John blinked up at the unfamiliar bronze colored ceiling wonderingly. "Where am I?"  
  
"The City of Atlantis, son. Remember your orientation?"  
  
So it hadn't been a nightmare then. The whales were made up, but not the destruction. "Earth?"  
  
John turned to his side to meet his Doctor's gaze. Like everyone here, the man looked tired and scruffy, but unlike some, he didn't bother to hide the red bloodshot look of his eyes, or the sticky tear tracks running down into a few days worth of stubble. "We lost contact, but we won't know until the Daedalus gets here to confirm it."  
  
"Daedalus."  
  
"Spaceship. They're a mite slower than the Stargate, but we'll know soon enough."   
  
John wasn't sure he wanted to know. He looked away. If he watched the pain in the doctor's eyes much longer, he might be tempted to cry himself. And if he did that, who knows when he'd stop?  
  
"I'm Dr. Carson Beckett, if I didn't mention it. And you are?"  
  
"John Sheppard."  
  
"Good, just let me enter that in and we can start the exam."  
  
John nodded, moving away from Beckett's hollow smile to fix his gaze on the intricate patterns of the stained glass windows along the wall.   
  
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Beckett asked, running his fingers along John's chest and then pulling out his stethoscope. "I mean, if we can't be on Earth," he paused for a moment to gather himself, "then I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."  
  
The exam passed quickly, with much fewer tests than John had come to expect at the doctor's office. "Any pain?" Beckett asked.  
  
"No, just aches all over. It was a hard swim."  
  
"I'm sure it was. I can't imagine doing such a thing. But you're alive and not much worse for the wear. Let me just get you under the scanner and then we'll likely be able to pull you off the pressurized oxygen. Think you can stand?"  
  
With Beckett's help, John managed to lie flat on a table that looked more like a computer console with a strange contraption, too small to be an x-ray, passing over him.   
  
At John's questioning look, Beckett grinned a little. "Ancient scanning device: sees in marvelous detail."  
  
"Ancient?" John asked. The thing couldn't be that old, if it was so high tech.  
  
"Oh, that's just our name for the people who built this city and the Stargates. They were largely human, a race that lived ten thousand years ago. They abandoned this city and let it sink into the sea, only for us to revive it eight years ago."  
  
"What do you mean by 'largely human'?" On  _Star Trek_  didn't they call it 'humanoid'?  
  
"Well, we're actually somewhat of an offshoot of their physiology. They basically seeded humans throughout the galaxy for some reason still unknown to us."  
  
"And they don't mind us using their city?"  
  
"No, not that we can tell. They're long gone. They were so physically advanced that they were eventually able to abandon their physical bodies entirely. They live as pure energy now." He nodded in the general direction of the windows. "Rat bastards, if you ask me, but they're out there." He punched a few buttons on a strange-looking palm pilot before looking up and smiling at John. "In fact, they're in here as well. He pointed to John's chest. "You have the gene."  
  
"What gene?"  
  
"ATA."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Stands for Ancient Technology Activation. It means that sometime long in the past one of these Ancients was your ancestor, giving you the gene that allows you to operate their technology. Less than a percent of a percent have it, and only half of those strong enough to really use it. I'm more of the latter. You, on the other hand--" He offered John the palm pilot. "Take that and think about some part of the human body."  
  
The second the thing touched John's hand, the screen flickered, displaying a diagram of someone's right shin.  
  
"You have a good faculty with that, lad. Though why you'd think about a shin remains a mystery. When I was your age, I would have gone for something a little more female." He winked, leaving John to tinker more with the scanner.   
  
John shrugged. "Seemed as good a part as any."  
  
"Aye, I suppose so. Now what's that you've got there?" He gently removed the scanner from John's hands, examining the strange letters scrolling across the screen with fascination. "You've pulled up the Ancient database entry on shin splints, which you don't seem to have at the moment."  
  
"I'm on the cross country and track teams, but it's off season. Shin splints suck."  
  
Beckett nodded, still staring at the device. "Unfortunately, according to this the Ancients have little help to offer in that department, unless we can find the muscle regeneration machine they keep referencing. You know, I've never been able to use the scanner interface to access the database. And you took to it bloody quickly. I've never seen anyone express the gene this strongly."  
  
"Is that a good thing?"  
  
"Very. Dr. Gaul will worship the ground you walk on. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to run a few blood tests."  
  
John wanted to protest, but no matter how friendly Dr. Beckett appeared, it was clear John didn't really have a choice. He looked away from where the doctor tied on a pressure cuff and focused instead on the curtained-off area to his right. "How is she?"  
  
"Hm?" The doctor preoccupied himself with entering John's data into a tablet computer.  
  
"The woman who came in with me: is she okay?"  
  
Beckett sighed. "Physically, same as you. She inhaled a wee bit too much sea water, and we were forced to perform CPR, but she'll recover in time."  
  
John knew adults well enough to know what Beckett wasn't saying, however. "But you don't think she'll survive?"  
  
"I don't know, lad. She tried to kill herself, and I can hardly blame her. Seven billion people. We don't even know what she's lost." The doctor looked as though he'd lost things too.  
  
"But she's not the only one who lost their planet. We're not all jumping off piers in the middle of the night."  
  
Beckett shook his head. John cringed in horror. He hoped to God he wouldn't have to see this grown man cry. "No, lad. I've too much to do to be killing myself now."  
  
"I just don't see the point." He'd give his life for something important, he supposed. But it'd have to be really,  _really_  important. And after all the people left behind, it seemed even more of a waste to give in now.  
  
The doctor sighed. "Who are we to judge that poor girl's pain? All I can tell you is that we don't have the resources to keep her on suicide watch at the moment. We have 25,000 people to examine, vaccinate, and establish medical records for, not to mention the public health concerns involved in housing so many in close quarters."  
  
John nodded. Like Mr. Spock always said: the good of the many outweighs the good of the few. What he never mentioned was how much it hurt. "Let me talk to her."  
  
"She's not awake yet, but I don't see why you couldn't sit with her." He flipped off the oxygen and removed the mask, but simply pushed the IV pole to where John could use it as a crutch.  
  
John moved slowly to the drawn curtain and the silhouetted figure behind it. His mother died behind an identical curtain, in a galaxy far, far away. He half expected to find her there, the same way a part of him still expected to find her waiting for him at the front door. "No chance of that now," he murmured to himself.  
  
The woman looked pale and drawn, her features washed out and plain. Long strands of dirty blond hair fell like limp straw over her face and shoulders. She could be thirty, or a difficult seventeen. On her thin face, wrinkles and worry lines were indistinguishable.   
  
John eased himself down into the seat beside her, ignoring the rattle of the IV pole as he drew it in. He still felt strung out and shaky, sore from last night's exertion. Maybe he should hold her hand. But, then again, they were essentially strangers. She might not appreciate it.   
  
Luckily, John was saved the decision by the slight show of blue peaking out from behind tired eyelids. The second she caught sight of him, however, she bolted upright, several monitors screaming in the background.  
  
"Hey, hey. It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you." John backed off, the way his father had taught him to when confronting an armed aggressor. The girl didn't have a knife or anything, but the desperate, panicked look in her eyes made her dangerous enough.  
  
"Who are you? What are you doing here? Where am I?"  
  
"I'm John. I," it sounded stupid now, "I'm the one who rescued you."  
  
"Rescued me? I don't remember," she slurred, staring at him intently. "I'm sorry, but you look a little young for a rescue team."  
  
"I'm fifteen."  
  
"Oh. What did I need rescuing from, again?" She pulled her legs up to her chest, hooking her arms around them and resting her head on her knees. She looked like a circus performer in heroine chic.   
  
"Swam after you and pulled you back onto the pier." She didn't looked confused, but almost accusing. "Maybe I shouldn't have bothered."  
  
"What makes you say that?" She was only half listening to him, going through the medical chart on the computer tablet John hadn't even noticed was clipped to the foot of her bed.  
  
"You were trying to kill yourself, weren't you?" John still couldn't imagine why. Well, he understood that if you were the kind of person who contemplated suicide, the destruction of your planet and probably most of your loved ones would be a good reason if there ever was one. He just couldn't imagine a situation desperate enough that he wouldn't want to live. Not when he had no idea what hope the future might hold.   
  
"I don't think I was. Why would I do that?" She picked at her IV absently, working the tape off without a mark on her pale, almost translucent skin.  
  
John gulped. Maybe he should lie. He didn't want to break the news badly and make her try it again. "Um, I don't know how to tell you this, but the Earth--"  
  
"Was destroyed." She looked about as destroyed by it as John felt. He wanted to sit next to her and comfort her maybe, but she looked almost too fragile, like anything might cause her to break. "I remember that part. I wasn't trying to kill myself." Having successfully pulled out her IV, she grabbed a cottonball from the tray by her bed to staunch the slow trickle of blood down the back of her hand, reaching over with the other hand to flip off the heart rate monitor.   
  
"Then why did you jump into an alien ocean in the middle of the night?"  
  
She yanked off the leads attached to her chest and pushed herself to standing. She looked as though a strong wind might knock her over. "Are you sure you want to be doing that? You almost drowned."  
  
"Pulse-ox is fine. I've had a full course of IV antibiotics and plenty of fluids. Not much lingering effects from the CPR either. I'll be fine. Just, have you seen my clothes?"  
  
John hadn't even found his own clothes yet. He shook his head.  
  
"Thanks for rescuing me." She smiled shyly, sweeping in before John could defend himself to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "I'm sorry I don't remember."  
  
"But you do remember why you walked off a pier?"  
  
"Swimming for land, I imagine," she shrugged. "I'm Jennifer, by the way."  
  
"I'm John." He stuck out his hand, not sure of what else to do. Her palm was small, her slender fingers clammy, but her smile showed real gratitude. John supposed she was cute in an awkward, dimpled sort of way.  
  
Jennifer quickly procured a pair of white hospital scrubs out of a drawer and turned, flushing, to pull them on.   
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm checking out of here. You want to help?"  
  
"You're not going to try it again are you?"  
  
"Try to escape? Maybe. Maybe not."  
  
"Wait, escape? We're in the middle of an ocean!" Not to mention the fact that their planet had just been evacuated. Now wasn't a time to dick around, divided they fall and all that.   
  
"Look, John. I just have to get out of here. I promise I'm not going to try to kill myself. These people are bad news. They just showed up in a black van and forced me to come with them. I'm not part of this Project Lifeboat thing. I told them I didn't want anything to do with them after I saw the kind of work they're doing, but they came for me anyway. I tried to hide, but the NID," she gulped. "We have to get out of here."  
  
"They're not--" John yanked harder. "Just let me call Dr. Beckett and he'll tell you."  
  
"Don't trust them, John. Before you know it they'll have you locked up. If you're of any use to them at all, they'll use you. They don't care that you're just a kid and they'll stop at nothing to make you do what they want." She shuddered. "I have to go." She gripped his shoulders, staring into his eyes with all the seriousness in the world. "You don't have to help me. You don't even have to believe me. Just let me go."  
  
John wanted to protest, because she was paranoid, not to mention delusional. But she was also right. It wasn't his right to stop her, just like it wasn't anybody's right to stop him finding his dad. He let go. "Okay."  
  
She smiled then, looking suddenly less terrified and less pale and less worried. "Good luck."  
  
"Good luck yourself."  
  
She disappeared before John even had a chance to object.  
  
***  
  
It had taken nearly an hour for Jeannie to fall asleep (and with her, both Rodney's legs and his left arm). He certainly had never been this clingy as a child. But then again, he couldn't blame her. Twenty-four hours as her permanent guardian and he'd already ruined her for life. Rodney sighed, pushing her hair back from a face sticky with tears and delivering a soft kiss to her temple before laying her down on top of the pink pony blanket and pulling a laptop to him. He'd made a promise to John that he'd at least look, and he didn't want to break it.   
  
Sure, Rodney knew that he didn't owe the other boy anything. John was just another kid borrowing Rodney's sweats. If they'd met back on Earth, John would probably have called Rodney a scrawny pussy-faced little geekboy and asked about his pocket protector. But Earth was gone and John was the only person, besides Jeannie, he had in this place. Everyone else he'd ever known was dead. In fact, John didn't even have to know that Rodney was a geek who he might've beaten up in another life. Rodney could just pretend like he'd been cool back on Earth. Which is what he resolved to do.  
  
The code was like nothing Rodney had ever seen, scrolling by in flash of color and alien characters. It looked like the kind of thing that could destroy the world: complex and elegant and too knowing. But there was an entry point somehow, a translation program that he dove into like a shark darting down into the depths of a prehistoric sea. This trail of code was serpentine and as jumbled and patchworked as the other was elegant, and it was breathtakingly easy. This wasn't a traditional wireless network. There were no base stations or IP addresses, so far as he could tell. Whatever system it was seemed to ooze out of the floor and the walls. It even powered up his laptop without the need for a plug. Similar technology was in development on Earth, but it wasn't anywhere close to this point.  
  
"Well, good," he sighed, exhaling the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. "Piece of cake." It wasn't as though he hadn't hacked government files before. Those governments just hadn't been so close. And possibly not so well armed. He risked a glance over his shoulder to find the majority of the hangar queued at the lunch line. No Sergeant Bates, just Lieutenant Barbie, letting the annoying botanist cry on her shoulder.   
  
John Sheppard's name came up right away, but when Rodney looked through the rudimentary file they had on him, there was only a military ID photo of a dazed and confused looking kid, age 15, on a list called ATA. Rodney had no idea what that stood for. It could mean that John was a threat, for all he knew. The first thing that came up in his search of the server was a recent message entered via the base's internal messaging system, from Colonel Marshall Sumner to all@lantis:  
  
 _Re: ATA carriers:  
Recent incidents with ATA users reported outside their authorized area have made it imperative that they be quarantined in a locked-down holding area. This is for their own safety as well as improved management of the evacuation. Attached is a list of known ATA carriers. Please cross reference this with the basic group census for your area. As soon as we have established a suitable area and cleared known gene carriers, we will do a sensor sweep for unregistered ATA genes. I will be in contact with security teams as needed._  
  
They were going to  _quarantine_  them? That seemed unnecessary to Rodney, especially considering how Sergeant Bates had treated Rodney himself. If Bates perceived these people as a security threat, then who knew what he'd do to them? Then again, how did anybody know that they weren't a security threat? John had been wandering around on the pier by himself when Rodney called for his help. If he hadn't been around, the woman might be dead right now, but if this city was half as dangerous as it appeared, he could have easily gotten into a lot of trouble too.  
  
Rodney was just about to start in on a search for exactly what they meant by a "locked down holding area" when a shadow fell across his screen. He'd gotten too engrossed in his work. Not an unusual occurrence, but this time it  _mattered_. He gulped, slamming the screen shut and standing. "It's not what you think it is, I swear! I was just-- playing video games. You know, this new  _Star Trek_  game is really very realistic. Simulates an alien language and everything. A little too iTunes visual synthesizer for my taste, but what can you do? People love Apple. iPods. I have an iPhone. Expensive and over-hyped but a stunningly efficient piece of hardware." He gulped again.  
  
The shadow turned out not to be a shadow, but a man. He was short, slightly balding with otherwise nondescript features other than biceps a little larger than Rodney was used to and an accusing stare that Rodney hadn't seen since his mother. "What? Do I have something stuck in my teeth?"  
  
The man shook his head. "No, but you look guilty enough. Do you need any help?"  
  
Rodney shook his head. "No, that's all right. I'm good. I'll just sit here with my sister."  
  
"Everyone else is getting their lunch. What's so special about you? You don't need to eat?"  
  
Rodney's stomach chose that moment to grumble.  
  
"I see. So, what are you doing over here when the food is over there?"  
  
Rodney puffed himself up, mentally cautioning himself not to piss his pants. If he got caught hacking the system, Dr. Weir might be too busy to reign in Bates. She might not even want to. "I have a sister, you know. I promised her I wouldn't leave her, and she's already lost her parents. I don't want to traumatize her even more by not being here when she wakes up."  
  
He didn't know why, but suddenly it hit him. His parents were dead. He and Jeannie were all alone and at the mercy of adults like this guy, who'd as soon turn him in for his hacking, when even his father would have reluctantly gone to court to protect him. He was the adult here and if it were his word against Rodney's, then it was obvious who they'd believe. And what would they do? What if they "quarantined" Rodney the way they were planning to do to John? He had no idea what'd happen to Jeannie. And how would Rodney live with himself then? He wasn't sure which was worse: the sudden crushing sense of grief (so many people) or the weight of responsibility for just one.  
  
And before he knew it, his fists were balled up and tears of frustration were streaming down his face and he shouted, "Fuck off," at this stranger who had the nerve to bug him when they'd just lost their god damned planet and nearly everyone on it. The thing was: all Rodney's life he'd known that things would get better. His parents would finally let him go to college. He'd blow through his Masters and a few PhDs. He'd conquer the world of physics and engineering and government contracts, get enough money for a big house and all the coffee and doughnuts he could eat, meet a beautiful woman with blond hair and big breasts, maybe more than one, like Hugh Hefner. But this, this was unknown territory, the vastness of which even subsumed his big fight with his father about his intellectual independence. It made the increasing price of oil and wars in the Middle East and gang violence and climate change all look wonderfully safe and secure. At least those things had a  _direction_.  
  
But what did he know about this world? Were there aliens? Was this about to turn into every bad sci-fi movie ever? And the government? Dr. Weir seemed well-intentioned enough, but this had originally been an expedition staffed largely by researchers. Who knew what kind of crazy Utopian procedures she might implement? And the military presence. Without the backing of Earth governments, how could she control it? They could be days away from the plot of  _Moonraker_  for all he knew.   
  
He thought about his mother, her soft voice (when she wasn't screaming at him to clean his room), the way she tucked him into bed every night, even at age fourteen. He always pretended he hated it, but now -- he'd just have to make sure to do the same for Jeannie. And then there was his father. They'd fought and as cliché as it now sounded, he never really knew his dad. But they were  _family_  and now they were gone. And there was only so much he could rationalize himself out of.  
  
Rodney blinked and there were tears streaming down his face. The man had somehow lowered himself to Rodney's side, pulling him into an almost uncomfortably tight hug and rubbing circles on Rodney's back. "Shh. It's okay. It's okay."  
  
"It's not okay!" Rodney shouted. "Look around you! It's not okay."  
  
"No. I guess it's not," the man replied. "But we're here and we have to make the best of it, eh?"   
  
"We may not have Earth, but at least the spirit of Hallmark cards has survived." He rolled his eyes.  
  
"I'm not being sentimental. That's the way things are. Earth's gone and we're here now. We'll either create a better world or a worse one."  
  
"Oddly, I can live with that," Rodney replied. He didn't much care for the other option.  
  
"Good," the man plastered on a plastic grin. "I'm Steve. Now, how about I get you and your sister some lunch before they run out?"  
  
Rodney nodded, almost shocked by the kindness this man was showing some strange kid (no matter how brilliant this particular kid might be). But Steve had said it himself: they'd either create a better world or a worse one and they had to try for the former.

***

John checked his watch. It had been exactly half an hour since Jennifer had taken off and still nobody seemed to have noticed. Doctors flitted in and out, mostly moving supplies to what he heard was some kind of staging bay. Apparently they needed background, vaccination and basic physicals on everyone here. From what John gathered, there were around twenty practicing doctors of some sort, not to mention maybe 30 more researchers with medical backgrounds and nurses, but they still had 25,000 people to examine. A quick calculation revealed that with 50 of them working, it'd still probably take close to a month.   
  
He made his way slowly back to his bed, curling up with his knees pulled to his chest exactly the way he'd seen Jennifer do it. This was probably the friendliest of hospitals he'd ever visited, with its bright sunlight and artful stained glass, but he couldn't help but fidget nervously, thinking about what Jennifer had said. They said the Earth was destroyed and they'd brought him here for his genes, but there was no way to know that. He just had to take them at their word. Maybe the government here had some other agenda. Or maybe this "gene" meant something else entirely. It just didn't make sense why they'd single out a kid like him for it.  
  
If Jennifer knew what she was talking about, then maybe it would be best if he escaped as she had. He was in the process of pulling out his IV when Dr. Beckett threw back the curtain to his bed. The man looked flushed and angry, his blue eyes flashing with accusation. "Where is she, lad? I know you know, so don't try and play tricks with me."  
  
"But I  _don't_  know. She said she didn't trust you guys then walked out. I swear I have no idea where she went."  
  
"Are you sure about that, kid?"  
  
John peered around Beckett looking for the owner of the voice. It belonged to a young looking dark-skinned Marine, with smiling, almost confused looking eyes that betrayed his serious question and stance.   
  
The doctor rolled his eyes. "John, this is Lieutenant Ford. He'll be 'helping' me find our lost patient. Honestly, with the trauma that poor lass has been through, I don't blame her for panicking and walking out."  
  
"She wouldn't have walked out if you had been watching her," Ford accused.  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, we're a bit understaffed at the moment, all things considered."  
  
"You're not the only ones. We don't have time to manage the evacuees, clear whole sections of the city for habitation,  _and_  search for your missing crazies."  
  
"She's not crazy! And she wasn't trying to kill herself," John protested.  
  
"Sure thing, kid," Ford grumbled, tapping his headset and wandering off to the side.  
  
"It'll be a bloody miracle if we find her. Health-wise, she's most likely out of serious danger, but I'd feel better if she were under observation for another day at least."  
  
"And me?" John didn't want to be around when they caught Jennifer, whenever that might be. He had a feeling that she wasn't going to make life pleasant for anybody when they found her.  
  
"You're good to go. I've already signed your discharge papers. Lieutenant Ford is--" Ford tapped his radio again before taking off down the hallway. "Well, when he gets back, he'll be taking you off my hands. Let me get that IV out and we'll see about getting you a few Motrins and you'll be on your way soon enough."  
  
The doctor's smile seemed genuine. John had a hard time believing that  _he_  was part of any kind of elaborate conspiracy.   
  
John was just about to ask more about this gene thing the doctor had been telling him about when he heard a familiar voice reverberating shrilly down the hall. "Don't touch that! Jeannie, leave the nice alien medical gadgets alone!" John had barely met the guy, but his voice was nothing if not distinctive. "Let's just get through this house of voodoo and get this over with."  
  
Beckett pulled back the curtain to reveal a very pissed off looking Rodney and his tired-looking little sister, who managed to look even sweeter and more angelic than the night before, with Rodney' bright blue eyes and a shy blush. "There you are," Rodney exclaimed, as though John had purposefully been hiding from him instead of recuperating in a hospital bed. "Well, I hope you learned your lesson about stupid self-sacrificing heroics. Speaking of which I--" He trailed off, eyeing Beckett so suspiciously that John might believe that the genial doctor might spontaneously turn into a dinosaur and start biting people's heads off. "Some privacy please?"  
  
"Of course, lad. I have to do some prep work with the scanner, but I'll be back with you in fifteen minutes."  
  
John expected some awkward small talk about the hundred things they didn't have in common, but instead, Rodney was busy spreading out his laptop on John's hospital bed, his sister hopping up beside John and studying the screen thoughtfully.   
  
"Down from there, brat. Can't you see I'm working?" Rodney's fingers seemed to be flying over the keyboard faster than humanly possible. "John, I'd like you to meet my pain-in-the-ass sister, Jeannie. Jeannie, this is John."  
  
"Hello, pretty lady, nice to meet you," John grinned charmingly, not having any idea in the slightest what to say to a little girl.  
  
Rodney squirmed around from where Jeannie was now hiding behind him. "You wanted me to introduce you and now you're not even going to say hi?"  
  
"Hi," she said to the Batman symbol on Rodney's shirt.   
  
"Sorry, she's a little shy."  
  
John shrugged. "It's okay. I think I was like that when I was little too."  
  
Jeannie finally stuck out a little hand for John to shake, still without meeting his eyes, but then began following the lines of code scrolling down Rodney's computer screen. Sad when a six-year-old clearly understood more than John did.  
  
"Not to be too nosy or anything, but what exactly are you doing?"  
  
"I," Rodney paused long enough to give John a smug grin, "am taking you off the grid."  
  
"Off the grid? Why are you doing that?"  
  
"Because starting now they're putting you and all the other ATA carriers in some kind of holding area until they can find a way to trust you in this insane mind-reading city."  
  
"A holding area?" Jesus, Jennifer had been right. If these people were as bad as she said they were, he hoped she didn't get captured.  
  
"Yep, and there's this crazy guy Bates. You really don't want to cross him. He's like Crais on  _Farscape_ , only shorter and angrier and with less hair. Now, there's a section of the city that was damaged by a storm a couple of years ago. It was determined to be more trouble than it's worth to repair, so the sensors won't be able to pick you up there. We just need to slip back into my section, grab a few supplies and you'll be ready to go. I've stockpiled some MRE leftovers, though water might be more difficult. I hope you like lemon chicken, by the way."  
  
"Wait, you want me to just hide out somewhere in a random alien city? How am I going to get food? What if I get caught?"  
  
Rodney waved his concerns aside, as if getting caught by the Earth version of Peacekeepers was going to be a  _party_. "Well, you won't have to hide for long. You'll have enough supplies to last a few days while they round up all the ATA carriers and do their scans. Then you can come back and stay with me and Jeannie."  
  
It sounded simple enough. Except John didn't know this boy. This boy had no reason to even help him, let alone give him food. "Why are you doing this? What about my dad?"  
  
Rodney stopped typing, and his sister turned her haunting blue eyes on him, looking at once curious and sympathetic. "I don't know."  
  
John nodded. His father was probably dead. But, they still had places to look for him. John wasn't giving up yet. "So, whatcha doin'?" he leaned over Rodney's shoulder, unconsciously copying Jeannie's pensive, interested pose.  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Too complicated for your limited comprehension."  
  
"Try me."  
  
"Okay, I'm creating a series of back doors to allow me quick access to the base's central server, while at the same time monitoring news on the ATA containment plans - a wonder of modern bureaucracy, of course. Oh, and, let's see, giving us a sensor window in which to sneak you out of here."  
  
"What about Lieutenant Ford?" John asked, watching the strange alien characters scroll by in the background of Rodney's computer screen. He'd never seen anything like them, and yet there was a faint tickle at the back of his mind, like the first blossoms of understanding.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"He just came in here to get me. He said he'd be back."  
  
"Hmm." Rodney pulled up another screen. "Well, it says here that the doctor's already signed you out. We'll do the old he said, she said."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You never did this with your parents? I'll enter a record with the infirmary database that orders Lieutenant Barbie - I mean, Cadman- to take you back with me. We'll tell the doctor to tell Ford we went with her, and we head off on our own. Simple."  
  
John's mother hadn't lived long enough for him to try that, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Rodney know. "Okay, fine. But what about Jennifer?"  
  
"Who? How in the hell do you meet all these people?"  
  
"Swear jar!" Jeannie suddenly exploded, holding out her hand to Rodney.   
  
He pushed her away. "No more swear jar. I'm in charge now and I say it's gone. Swear all you want."  
  
"Shitface!" Jeannie screeched, looking around to see if she was suddenly going to get punished.  
  
"Nice parenting, Rodney."  
  
Rodney shrugged, ignoring Jeannie's babble of various swear words. "Who's Jennifer?"  
  
"The girl from last night."  
  
"The suicidal one? What about her?"  
  
"She ran away. She's not suicidal, you know. She was trying to swim for land."  
  
"Well yippee for her. Stupidity isn't far above suicidal, I hope you know."  
  
"Can you check to see what they've done to her?" She'd been so utterly terrified of these people that John didn't want to think of what might happen if she got caught.   
  
Rodney gave a put upon sigh, but started typing anyway. "Fine. But don't ask me to care."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Good. I don't have anything about her here. They're still searching."  
  
"Cool," John grinned, already formulating a plan in his head. They'd find John's dad, and then they could go get Jennifer and make sure the military didn't do anything bad to her. Dad would make sure of that. "Did you by any chance bring me some pants?"  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes, looking surprised when Jeannie opened her pink Bratz backpack and pulled out a faded pair of jeans, a dead-panda t-shirt and a black hoodie. "Thanks," John gave her his best approving smile. He had no idea what to do with a six year old  _girl_ , but apparently he was doing something right because Jeannie smiled back, handing him his clothes and watching intently as he yanked off his scrub top to pull them on.   
  
"He's too old for you, Captain," Rodney pouted, though John couldn't help noticing that he was staring too.  
  
"Take a picture, Rodney; it'll last you longer."  
  
"Just checking for bruises. I'd feel bad breaking you out of here if you were in danger of keeling over at any moment."  
  
John elected not to mention that Rodney himself had just informed him that he'd be cleared by the doctor already. "Whatever. What do you say we break out of this medical prison?"  
  
"Okay. Onwards and upwards, Captain?" Rodney held out his hand, which Jeannie took readily, looking up at him adoringly. John didn't think he'd ever understand little girls.   
  
"Captain?" John whispered.  
  
"She likes Captain Janeway." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Six years old and already a feminist."  
  
"Hey, she could have worse female role models. Britney Spears. Paris Hilton. Please tell me they blew up along with the planet."  
  
"The one positive to this whole thing, though some idiot decided to save Hannah Montana."  
  
"So much for Utopia."  
  
"That and the whole genetic discrimination fascist thing, in case you've forgotten."  
  
"No, I definitely haven't," John whispered as they walked out of the infirmary to lie their way out of here.  
  
***  
  
John couldn't help eyeing Jeannie suspiciously as she walked beside Rodney, holding his hand (at his insistence). John had very little experience with younger kids, let alone little girls. He was an only child, and a solitary one. His father had been relocated so many times that John eventually just gave up on making friends. Being friendly, he could do with his hands tied behind his back, but the new kid was always the new kid - interesting for a few weeks and then just that guy who you  _hadn't_ known for years. But he was here to stay and Rodney seemed to like him okay. Better not mess it up by traumatizing his sister.  
  
But what did you  _talk_  about with a six-year-old? Especially one who had just lost her parents and most of her friends? He couldn't ask her about school. "So, um, Jeannie, are you a genius like your brother?"  
  
She shied away from him, burying her face in Rodney's leg and biting her lower lip like the poster child for bashful little girls everywhere.  
  
"Of course she's a genius," Rodney snapped. "Runs in the family. She was the youngest ever entry in our school's measly little lower school science fair, and even took third, over fourth and fifth year students. By that age I had already built, and vastly improved upon a ham radio system, but they wouldn't let me enter. Those dimples help," he gestured to Jeannie. "And she can pout like a secret weapon. Not that I wasn't cute too. I was a beautiful child, just, you know, a little more insistent."  
  
John rolled his eyes. He didn't want to alienate the kid who'd hacked a military system and broken him out of some kind of quarantine, but he practically had to bite the inside of his mouth not to make fun of some of the messed up things that came out of Rodney's mouth. It was like the kid was half encyclopedia, half those 'embarrassing moments' sections of the girly magazines that John would never admit to having read.   
  
The going was hard - too many people kept popping up in the hallways on the most direct route to their section. It wasn't just the military, either. People in other uniforms were crawling all over the place. Luckily, most appeared too engrossed in their own activities, either talking to their radios or talking to themselves, to really give three kids wandering alone in the halls too much attention. But after the third soldier they'd passed, John got fed up, pulling Rodney and Jeannie back into an out-of-the-way alcove.  
  
"Hey!" Rodney snapped. "We were making good progress!"  
  
"Good progress at getting caught."  
  
"Well what do you expect us to do?" Rodney whispered, "just sit here until the traffic slows? I hate to break it to you, but this is really the city that never sleeps. Have you seen those people?"  
  
"Hey, I was getting along just fine when I made my way over to your section to begin with. It's something to do with this ATA thing the Doc was talking about. I can control things with my  _mind_."   
  
"Wonderful. All right, Great and Incredible Sheppardini, work your magic."  
  
John tried reaching out to the city, the way he had when he'd been practically drowning and wished for a hand to pull him up. But this time instead of convenient handholds, he, Rodney, and Jeannie only succeeded in falling through the wall into a big pile of tangled limbs on the other side. "Abra kadabra," he moaned, trying to extricate himself from under Rodney.  
  
"Ow, my funny bone!" Rodney complained. " _Avada Kedavra_ , more like."  
  
There was an awkward moment when Rodney almost kneed him in the balls, and another when their noses touched, but they finally managed to get up. John dusted himself off, hopefully nonchalantly, taking the time to look around the darkened secret room. It was dusty, with a dead plant hiding in the corner.   
  
"Hey, Mindfreak, wanna turn on the lights?"  
  
John blinked and the lights came on, making the dead plant look even more pathetic and dilapidated. The room was sparsely decorated, despite the intricate light fixtures and modern designs on the walls. Three raised stone tables formed an odd grouping in the center of the room, with a pillar of light rising to the ceiling from each one.   
  
"Well, now we have a secret lair." It was obvious that no one had been in this place for a long time.   
  
"A secret lair with no chairs," Rodney grumbled. " _And_  no food. Doesn't pay to be an evil genius these days."   
  
John shrugged. This place was cool. And he'd made it appear with his mind - even cooler. "Hey, who said anything about evil? This could totally be our Batcave. I bet you there's even a secret entrance." And with that, another panel opened up in the wall, revealing what looked like a small room with an electronic display at the back.  
  
"Some secret entrance. Congratulations, you found the broom closet."  
  
"Well, I'm sure I could find more places. I mean, this place is  _huge_. You saw the size of it when we were out on the pier. It's a whole  _city_."  
  
A speaking city. The faint tingle at the back of John's mind escalated to a whisper and he found himself drawn towards the three altar-like tables. Unfortunately, Rodney's sister beat him there.  
  
"Jeannie! Stay away from there!" Rodney shouted. "This is an  _alien_  city. Who knows what's lying around here besides ten-thousand year old germs and secret rooms. For all we know, we're Hansel, Gretal and," he gestured to John, "Bozo, walking right into an old witch's oven!"  
  
"Not an oven," John murmured, happy to slip past Jeannie to the space between the tables. But the moment he set foot within the faint triangle they formed, a light blasted on like a search beam from the ceiling and John felt Jeannie cower behind him with a muffled scream. A man was standing there wearing some kind of white pajamas.  
  
"Holy shit!" Rodney exclaims. "Is that--"  
  
"Welcome, noble warrior, to the Room of Quest. Quest is for those that seek it and only those that do. Upon the daises you will find the tools for your journey. They will help you on your way, but at the last crossing, they must be abandoned, as must this all. We offer you shield, sword, and chalice and wish you only greatness in your journey."  
  
"Cool." John grinned. Maybe he was a  _little_  old for playing knights and stuff like that. But this was a  _real_  quest, hologram guy and everything.  
  
"I think you already said that."  
  
There was an insistent tug on John's pant leg. "Who was that?" Jeannie whispered, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes.  
  
"Just a hologram," Rodney, replied. "And seriously? A quest? That's the last thing we need now, another harebrained scheme that will end up with us locked in a military holding cell."  
  
"I don't want to go into a military holding cell," Jeannie said, latching herself onto John's leg.   
  
"Uh," he patted her on the head awkwardly. "Don't worry, kid. We won't let that happen." In his righteous anger over what was being done to those of them with this so-called 'gene,' John had nearly forgotten about Jeannie. She was an innocent in all this. Granted, they were all innocent, but she was just a little girl. They couldn't risk the military getting hold of her. In fact, Rodney had risked enough bringing her along when he came to rescue John. They had no more right to put her in danger or let her get separated from Rodney than the military did to try to lock John up in the first place. He resolved to not let Rodney put himself in any kind of danger, not while he had Jeannie to take care of. John could find his dad on his own, if it came to that.   
  
"On the other hand," Rodney mumbled to himself, "a shield and a sword sound quite helpful." The next thing John knew, Rodney was pushing him aside to approach the nearest pillar, feeling along it for any buttons or symbols that might release the promised goods. It wasn't until his hand broke through the beam of light that it projected up and into the ceiling that something happened - an array of symbols appeared along one side, illuminated.   
  
"Huh," John said. "Well, I guess it's not going to be abra kadabra after all."  
  
"No, most of life isn't. Luckily for you, you're here with a genius."  
  
"Two geniuses," Jeannie added, from where she was still hiding somewhere behind John.   
  
"Yes, well, one  _functioning_  genius, and a six-year-old." Rodney whipped out his laptop from its case faster than John had seen soldiers unholster a gun. It was kind of difficult not to be impressed. "Now, if I just pull up the translation matrix I located in the database, then we can figure our what the mysterious alien writing says, and hopefully get ourselves a shield."  
  
"I think I'd rather have a sword."  
  
"Of course you do. Why should people who jump into alien oceans be rational, after all?" He typed in a few commands before exclaiming, "Here it is! Something, something, quest, blah, blah. 'Shield. The key to find yourself within the shield, is to find yourself without.' Well, that's not helpful. They might as well be making the sound of one hand clapping."  
  
John stepped up behind Rodney, where he was standing between the three platforms. "Are you sure that's all it--" he trailed off when they were suddenly flooded in light, a shimmering green shield forming around them. "Um, that's not good."  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Rodney retorted, typing frantically at his computer, as though that would do him any good. "It looks like we've found ourselves a shield."  
  
John stepped up the edge of the shielded area, looking at Jeannie, who was standing, shocked, on the other side. He reached out a hand, only to feel a hard electric tingle, pushing him back from contract. It wasn't a shock, just the feeling of pressing up against an immovable and statically charged surface.   
  
"Oh, that's just great, feel it up, why don't you?"  
  
"Hey, one of us had to, and it obviously wasn't going to be you. Besides, it only tingles. No harm done. Now the question is how do we get out of here?"  
  
"Mer?" Jeannie whimpered, looking utterly terrified.   
  
"Hey, why does she keep calling you that?"  
  
"It's nothing," Rodney admonished, shouting to Jeannie. "Just hang on. We'll be out of this in no time. Just a quest. A little one, not like that Arthurian Grail business. Just have to get outside the shield. Piece of cake. Walk in the park. Easy does it." Rodney finished with a nervous laugh.  
  
"Way to inspire confidence," John murmured, aware that Rodney hadn't answered his question, but not willing to chance asking again with Jeannie's lower lip trembling in that way that signified impending tears. "Please, um. Just hang tight, Jeannie and, um, we'll figure this out. Give us a few minutes, okay?"  
  
Jeannie nodded solemnly, sitting down outside the shield and fixing them with an intense stare. It was actually pretty creepy, once John thought about it - like a doll in a horror movie. "Okay, now, outside the shield. How do we get outside the shield?"  
  
"I don't know! What do I look like, the answer man?"  
  
"Actually, yes. Now, I've already tried thinking it off, so that's obviously not working."  
  
"Why don't you try thinking that you don't want a shield?"  
  
"I  _don't_  want a shield. I want a sword so I can cut a hole in the stupid shield." John paused, looking out of the corner of his eye to see if a sword happened to materialize. One didn't. "Turkey sandwich?" That didn't materialize either. "Let me see your translation thing."  
  
Rodney reluctantly handed over his laptop, grumbling about how it was now one of the last of its kind, and one of only four that Rodney had with him, so John had better be careful. "Hey, you didn't read the whole thing! It says, 'In order to complete your quest, you must expand your mind. Look beyond the obvious and return, as always, to the insignificance of the self.'"  
  
"Yes, hence the 'blah, blah, blah, hippie zen bullshit, blah.'"  
  
"It could be relevant, you know. It's obviously some kind of puzzle." John looked from the words on the screen to the strange alien text on the side of the pillar and wondered. The answer clearly had something to do with the text. He reached out and felt along the smooth surface until he felt a faint indent. "Can you isolate single words in this program? What does this one mean?"  
  
Rodney snatched his laptop back, typing furiously. "That one seems to be 'expand' or 'widen.'"   
  
"Good," John replied, pressing down on the symbol and thinking  _expand_. He was surprised as anyone when it happened, enveloping Jeannie in a smooth motion.   
  
"Jeannie!" Rodney exclaimed, rushing over to her. "Are you okay? Did it hurt you?"  
  
Jeannie shook her head, hugging Rodney and refusing to let go.   
  
"Hey, it's okay. I'm here. John and I were here the whole time. We were never going to leave you." Yeah, even more reason to make Rodney sit the impending search for John's dad out. Of course, they had to get out of this shield first.  
  
"Well, if it expanded that far, and it can obviously expand around things, then maybe we can just expand it to the door and walk out."  
  
"Yes, because that makes sense. No matter how far you expand it, we're still going to be inside when we want to be outside."   
  
"Well, I don't see any other  _genius_  ideas, so here goes nothing." The shield expanded in stages, each with an accompanying mental buzz. It felt wrong, like a phantom touch, but John pressed onwards until the shield encompassed the whole room. And then failed to expand any more.  
  
"Great, so now we're trapped in a room, not just a small little space. And wait, my sister's in here with us instead of safe where she can go get help!"   
  
John pressed the word again, this time thinking 'off' but nothing happened. Not that he was expecting it to be that easy. This was a quest, after all. "Maybe it's another word." He tried pressing each in turn, thinking 'off' at each one, but it didn't work.  
  
"Wait!" Rodney exclaimed, snapping his fingers at John like some Eighteenth century British lord calling to his manservant. "The hippie thing is all about opposites. Get out of a shield so we can get one. Getting tools for a quest, but not keeping them. Maybe we don't want the shield to grow. Maybe we want it to contract."  
  
"But the inscription doesn't say 'contract.'"  
  
"That's because it's a translation, done by a computer and probably some  _linguists_ who have no idea what they're doing. Here," he scrolled through some kind of dictionary. "Insignificance, from the roots infinitely and diminished. Contracted."  
  
John needed no more convincing. He pressed the indicated symbol and sure enough, the shield flashed down a notch. "Hey, Rodney, go stand on the edge. Maybe we can put you outside it and you can use your genius to shut it off from there."  
  
Rodney obliged, hesitantly, but it ultimately didn't matter, because the shield just ended up pushing him further inwards when it contracted.  
  
"Okay, that was weird. Must be semipermeable. Things can get in but not out. I wonder what kind of shielding technology--" he continued to talk to himself while John experimented with other buttons, pressing them each in turn and thinking about release. Pushing both expand and contract, thinking the opposite of what the words meant, but the shield didn't budge.  
  
"Maybe we just have to make it contract until we can't anymore," he remarked.   
  
"Yeah, so it can crush us!"  
  
"No, I think that's it. There aren't any other options."  
  
"Maybe no other options that your tiny brain can consider. Did you try pressing them both at the same time?" John nodded. "What about thinking off while pressing other ones?" John nodded again, and at every other suggestion that he'd already tried.  
  
Rodney clearly did his best not to look impressed, but John could tell that he was, anyhow. "Huh. Well maybe it just wants us to sit here and be patient. That's a hippie kind of thing. Except my low blood sugar! I'm hypoglycemic. What if I slip into a coma and die? We have to get out of here. I can't believe you talked me into this in the first place. Not that there was a lot of talking, more blindly stepping into the wrong places. You need to stop stepping!"   
  
Rodney continued to rant and John made an executive decision, pressing the button to contract the shield more, about two feet each time, forcing Rodney in closer to John and Jeannie, where they stood up against the pillar.  
  
"Hey! Just what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Getting us out of here." John made the shield smaller again, until they were all pressed hard against the table, bent forward into the white light that still shot up towards the ceiling, making everything stark and washed out, but still brilliant.  
  
Jeannie was whimpering softly from where she stood to John's right, her nose even with the inscriptions on the stone. "My spleen!" Rodney complained. "If you make this contract one more time, our insides will be crushed into little gooey bits. I don't think you understand what happens when flesh and blood meets an immovable object. Something similar to a tomato meeting a brick wall. And I'm not looking forward to ketchup at the moment!"  
  
Except whoever built this room wouldn't kill somebody for contracting the shield while they were within it. The people who built this couldn't have been so reckless. "It's a leap of faith, Rodney. And I think we have to take it."  
  
Their faces were pressed almost together across the top of the narrow platform, and the white light made Rodney's eyes sparkle with panic and worry, magnifying all the fine lines of stress painted onto his features. He looked too old for his age and worn. John took a deep breath, braced himself for ketchup-land, and pressed the button.  
  
There was a brilliant green flash and suddenly, John was on the floor, his already abused body complaining loudly. As soon as all this finished, he was taking a nice, long nap.   
  
"Hey, we didn't die!" Rodney exclaimed.   
  
"Don't act so surprised." John tried to look as though he hadn't doubted himself in the slightest.  
  
"Well, how was I supposed to know these idiots would have the same strange sense of death-defying stupidity as you? What does this machine test, anyhow? Your willingness to jump to absurd conclusions?"  
  
John ignored the complaints, picking himself up, drawn back to the pillar of light and the small green broach that now sat in the middle of it. "I think we have our shield," he remarked, reaching out to grab it. "Now we just need to test it."   
  
"Jeannie, go wait in the closet," Rodney ordered. "Don't want you to get hurt."  
  
"But Mer!" God, that whine could get annoying fast.  
  
"Don't make me toss you in there, rugrat."  
  
Jeannie, sighed, complying in a huff and tossing her curls over her shoulder as she stalked over to the closet, the doors closing behind her, only to open again, empty.   
  
"Oh my god, you disintegrated my sister!" Rodney yelped as they both rushed over to the area.  
  
"I did not! You told her to go in there!"  
  
"And you summoned the closet of death! Don't step into it! Do you want to be disintegrated too?"  
  
"We're not going to be disintegrated," because if John had disintegrated Rodney's sister, he'd never forgive himself. "Look." He pointed to a display that opened up in the way, complete with a picture of what looked like a snowflake, punctuated by a constellation of glowing white dots. "Since I'm pretty sure they wouldn't put a map in a disintegration closet, I think this is some kind of elevator, or maybe even a turbo-lift, like on  _Star Trek_."  
  
John reached out to press the only dot that was glowing bluish and brighter. "What do you think you're doing?" Rodney squeaked, manfully.  
  
"I'm picking our destination."  
  
"How do you know those are destinations and not the controls for how far apart we want our atoms scattered when it makes us disappear?"  
  
John squinted, pointing at the one reddish dot at the center of the snowflake. "That one kind of screams  _You are here_."  
  
"Really? Because I'm hearing  _Congratulations, you're about to be blown into tiny little pieces just like your sister!_  I can't believe I let you get me into this situation to begin with."  
  
John reached out a finger for the button.  
  
"Don't you dare! It's bad enough I'm stuck in a city full of disasters with the boy with the self preservation instincts of a lemming, but he clearly has no idea of the ramifications of thinking with his impulse control problem!"  
  
"Hey,  _he_  understands the ramifications just fine. If I press the button, we get back to your sister with a nice warm blanket and some MREs. I don't press it and we're stuck in a deserted corridor with no food or water and Jeannie is all by herself somewhere in a huge alien city."  
  
"Or, maybe you don't press it and we get to live."  
  
John ignored him. He pressed the button, refusing to squint or wince or brace himself for some kind of disintegration beam. He was right and Rodney was wrong and they were not going to die.  
  
Luckily for him, they didn't. "See? That wasn't so bad. Ten fingers, ten toes, check the rest later."  
  
***  
  
Jesus, John was quick on the trigger. There wasn't even time to curl into a ball and hope the annihilation ray didn't get him before the door was sliding open and Jeannie was standing there, face already scrunched up in preparation for a spectacular bawl. Thank god she was diverted into a wide smile as she rushed at Rodney, knocking him back against the wall with an "Oof."  
  
"Oh, Jeannie, thank god." Rodney wasn't even disgusted when she rushed up to hug him. He'd been so scared for the maybe two minutes when he thought he'd lost her. This must be what his parents felt all those years when they snapped at him to look after her better, or that one time when he'd let her out of his sight at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, or the time with the bunsen burner and some of her hair. He lifted her up, even though it would probably give him instant scoliosis, and gripped her tight. "Don't you ever do that again."  
  
"But Mer, you told me to go into the closet."  
  
He might have, but that still didn't give her the right to scare him like that.   
  
"So, you never answered my question," John drawled. Oh god, why didn't someone just shoot him now. Now, the beating begun. "Why does she keep calling you that?"  
  
"It's his name," Jeannie replied easily. "Meredith."  
  
"Meredith!" John looked far too gleeful.  _Here it goes, again,_  Rodney thought, bracing himself for the teasing. "Your name is Meredith? That is just too good to be true."  
  
"It was my grandfather's name. He was a brilliant man. A scientist. So what if nowadays it's more common as a name for girls. I go by Rodney anyway."  
  
"Whatever you say,  _Meredith_ ," John chuckled, the bastard. Rodney was never going to live this down. "Now, the question is where the the hell are we?"  
  
They were in a brightly lit corridor, filled with an almost sepia light, like they were in the middle of some upscale hotel from a 1930s detective movie. John walked forward to a large stained-glass door, which opened for him out into the bright sunshine. The sea sparkled in the mid-morning sunlight before them, and the wind blew through John's out-of-control hair like this was some kind of shampoo comercial. There was something cinematic in it and the way John turned around to grin back at them. John might be the perfect mischievous silver-screen hero, but Rodney felt distinctly out of place. Aliens and beautiful cities and seascapes. It was too much for him, too much for  _reality_. But Jeannie rushed forward when John asked, "What are you guys waiting for?" and Rodney had no choice but to follow, stumbling a little.  
  
A building stood in the distance, the size of a warehouse, glittering silver against the bright blue of the sky. Rodney's heart beat a little faster, thinking that they might have actually found their way back to their housing and a nice warm bed with a pink pony comforter and Rodney's other laptops and MREs and safety. But the second they stepped in the door, he realized that, of course, he would never be that lucky.  
  
The building looked abandoned, and not well kept even before that. John barely gazed at the ceiling and it opened up, letting the sunlight spill in to reveal an empty space. A few workstations like consoles out of  _Star Trek_  lined the walls, but otherwise there was nothing but some dust and a few large sheets of metal, pieces of things Rodney couldn't identify.  
  
"So, now's as good a time as any to test this thing." John pulled out the so-called shield from his pocket.   
  
"Congratulations, you've found a jeweled turtle. I'm pretty sure my great aunt Ruth has a matching tschotschke somewhere. Had, I mean." Rodney thought he'd never feel bad for the loss of his great aunt Ruth (especially not those disgusting monstrosities she called peanut brittle), but somehow the idea of never seeing (or smelling) her again stung somewhere deep and untraceable. Rodney gulped.  
  
"Hey," John, thank god, pulled him back to the subject at hand, though for a moment his eyes flashed with concern, belying the excited grin on his lips. "Check this out." He held the turtle up to his face and kind of wrinkled his nose, staring at it.  
  
Rodney was just about to make fun of him for going cross-eyed when the thing lit up a bright green. "Don't do that! You have no idea what that thing is! Sure, the pillar-thing said shield, but it might be an alien hand grenade for all we know!"  
  
John bit his bottom lip, looking suddenly young and uncertain. "I don't think so. I'm not sure how I know, but I think it will create the shield around me. Um, what do you think  _contego_  means?"  
  
"Like I know. Maybe it's alien for 'stop touching the stupid green broach.'"  
  
John seemed to be considering something. "Broach, yeah. I think it's--" He raised the green turtle to his chest.  
  
"Oh, no you don't! You have no idea what--"  
  
But it was too late, the second the thing touched John's chest, a layer of green sprang up around him, just like the green shield that had almost killed them in the quest room.   
  
"Oh my God," Rodney gulped, staggering forward.  
  
"Cool!" Jeannie shouted from behind him. Like most of the time, Rodney had completely forgotten that she was there. He didn't have time to stop her before she was running forward, poking at John's shiny new green halo.  
  
"You took the words right out of my mouth," John laughed, mock blocking Jeannie as she slapped at the shimmering surface of the shield.  
  
"Well, we still have no idea if it's dangerous," Rodney grumbled.   
  
"Hey, I wonder how powerful this thing is," John said. "How about you hit me?"   
  
"I'm not going to hit you!" Rodney exclaimed.  
  
"Oh, yeah? Are you a chicken? Plock, plock, plock, plah-plock!" John shouted, Jeannie chiming in.  
  
"What are you, six?"  
  
"Yes," Jeannie answered.  
  
"Not you, rugrat."  
  
"Seriously, Rodney, hit me. It's not going to do anything to you."  
  
"No," Rodney crossed his arms in front of his chest.   
  
"Batman would do it." John was just playing dirty now.  
  
"Yes, well Batman would have a sophisticated lab full of monitoring technology."  
  
"C'mon," John stalked forward, looking for a second just like the guys who used to stuff Rodney in a dumpster at school. "You know you want to."  
  
"Oh, no you don't!" Rodney shouted, turning and making a run for it. Usually he was pretty fast, but John had those incredibly long limbs and was gaining. Rodney shrieked, ducking around one of the twisted pieces of sheet metal strewn around the room. Jeannie was giggling somewhere behind him as John gained. Yeah, this was an awful lot like school. Except--  
  
There was a crash behind him and Rodney turned around just in time to see John take a flying trip over what appeared to be his own feet and then take a bright green header straight into the ground. "Are you okay?" Rodney asked, rushing back over to him.  
  
John rocketed to his feet, a hundred-watt smile plastered to his face. "Yeah. Didn't feel a thing." And with that, he lunged for Rodney, the shield flashing around him as he grabbed Rodney around the waist. "Come on, hit me."  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes, squirming around against the shield. It didn't hurt, just sort of tickled in a vaguely electrical way like those static lightning-ball things they used in bad sci-fi sets. But then again, John wasn't holding onto him very tightly.  
  
"It's like a Power Ring, only I'm not sure it can do anything other than shield. I'm like the Green Lantern!"  
  
"Yeah," Rodney grumbled, "and who does that make me, Alexandra DeWitt?"  
  
John smirked. "You said it, not me."   
  
"You're a moron. Has anyone ever told you that?"  
  
"Nice comeback. Hey, I bet you we could do all sorts of stuff with this thing!" He looked around, noticing a ladder running up the far wall.   
  
"Oh, no you don't! Do you have any idea what could happen if it doesn't work? You could break a leg! Or your neck!"  
  
John paused on his way up the ladder, looking down. "I've fallen this far before. Only broke my arm."  
  
Rodney buried his face in his hands. "Why do I even bother? Clearly somebody skipped class the day they were passing out self-preservation instincts."  
  
"Are you ready, Alexandra? Or would you rather I call you Meredith?"  
  
Without giving Rodney the time to answer, he fell, landing with a familiar flash of green and rocketing to his feet. The grin was kind of infectious, if no less crazy. "That was awesome! I bet you I can do it all the way from the ceiling!"  
  
"No way," Rodney crossed his hands across his chest stubbornly. "You have no idea the strength of the field on that thing, let alone its battery life. And, despite your annoying propensity for trying to kill yourself and the hair that I'm sure is just biding its time before it takes over the world, I really don't need to see your brains splattered all over one of my few pairs of pants. I mean, who knows when we're going to get new textiles? We might have to  _weave_  our own, and I've always had sensitive skin - break out in hives from wool. And my  _sister_. You're not going to kill yourself in front of a psychologically vulnerable six-year-old, are you?" Because what they all needed was  _clearly_  more mental trauma.  
  
"I'm not 'cologically vulnerable!" Jeannie protested.  
  
Rodney was just about to tell Jeannie the million ways she couldn't possibly know what that even meant when John grinned, holding a hand below the device for it to drop easily into his palm. "If you wanted to try,  _Meredith,_  all you had to do was ask."  
  
"No, thank you, I really have no particular interest in falling to my death. And don't call me that!" He swatted a John, now that the shield was deactivated.  
  
John gave a long suffering sigh before sticking the device to Rodney's chest. It tingled. It very definitely tingled. Rodney hoped that was normal. It'd be just like him to be allergic to alien technology. John poked at his chest, smiling where a field of bright green flashed before Rodney's vision. "Cool."  
  
"Hm, it kind of is, eh?" Rodney tried slamming a fist into the wall. It didn't hurt. In fact, it left a slight dent in the metal.  
  
"I wanna try!" Jeannie declared, rushing forward to tug at Rodney's pant leg. She only succeeded in making his leg flash green.  
  
"No," Rodney replied succinctly.  
  
"Why not?" she whined.  
  
"Because you're too young."  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"You just want to keep it for yourself! You're a 'fraidy cat and you want it to keep the big kids from beating up on you."  
  
Rodney looked over at John and blushed. He didn't need the other kid getting any ideas. High school kids were like that - they sniffed even a drop of blood in the water and before you knew it, it was a pin-the-tail-on-the-geek piñata party.  
  
"No, I'm not. Silly little girl, has no idea what she's talking about." Rodney gulped, watching John step in closer. He didn't look as though he was going to jump anybody, but you couldn't always tell. "And if there was any beating going on it was my superior intellect beating up their inferior MTV-watching, Doritos-filled monkey-brains."  
  
"It's okay." John shrugged. "With a Power Ring--"  
  
"It's more of a broach, really."  
  
"With a Power  _Broach_ , you could call the president of the United States an inferior MTV-watching moron, and there wouldn't be a thing he could do about it."  
  
"But he  _is_  a Doritos-brained moron, like your whole country. A nation of idiots who only care about the most retarded sport in the history of  _ever_  - since when is it football if you don't even use your feet? - and which one of a list of anorexic girls can take the best photo and be crowned America's Next Top Idol."  
  
"I think you're confusing - wait, you're not American?"  
  
"We're from Canada," Jeannie piped up.  
  
"Huh. I thought you said 'about' kind of funny."  
  
"Yes, a whole different nation and all you can think of is my pronunciation of 'about.'"  
  
John giggled. Rodney was not amused.  
  
"Very tasteful. Why am I even associating with you south-of-the-border Neanderthal, again?"  
  
"Because I have all the cool toys." John grinned. "Speaking of which, can I have it back? I wanna try something."  
  
Rodney looked down at the broach. It didn't budge. He tried to grab it and pull it off, but the shield just flashed. He didn't want to give it back, anyway. He'd barely had a chance to wear it. "What if I don't want to?"  
  
John rolled his eyes. "I promise I won't let any bullies or whatever get to you. And I'll give it right back. I just want to see if I can get it to extend over more than one person or object. Like the Green Lantern does."  
  
"Let me try it, then." Rodney reached out to grab John's hand, trying to figure out if he could somehow get the field to transfer over to him. But there were no buttons on the thing. It was as though it could suddenly detect when it was being pinned to someone's chest. He had no idea how John even got it to deactivate. "Maybe if I turn it off and reinitialize it when we're in contact." He paused. "How do you do that, again?"  
  
"Just think off. It's totally like the Green Lantern. You need to have the will."  
  
"Off." The device fell off his chest.  
  
"You don't have to say it."   
  
Rodney grabbed hold of John's hand, ignoring how his palm suddenly seemed to be sweating of its own accord. "On."  
  
The shield flickered and John yelped, pulling his hand back from where the shield had apparently stung, worming its way between them. "Let me try it."  
  
Rodney snapped, "What makes you think you can do it any better than I can?"  
  
"You can't  _hear_  the city. Or the device. Maybe there's a command you have to give it or something."  
  
"Fine." Rodney handed the device over. "But don't expect it to--" he trailed off when John stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist in a bear hug. A second later, a green flash enveloped them both.  
  
"Cool."  
  
"You said that already."  
  
"And it's still cool. Hey, Jeannie, come here."   
  
Jeannie trundled over to them and when she reached for Rodney, the field struck out and enveloped her too.   
  
"How'd you to that?"  
  
"I thought about extending the shield over Jeannie. Hey, I wonder if we can separate out." He released his arms from around Rodney and took a step back. The shield flashed, but the continuity didn't break.  
  
"That makes sense. I mean, on a quantum level, there's space between the components of your atoms and space between your atoms as well, not to mention the fact that it's able to form around your clothes even though they're not actually attached to your body. It's not making a decision fully based on a discrete unit, though I can't figure out the exact criterion. Let's see if we can walk with stuff between us."  
  
They chose a piece of scrap metal and walked one on either side of it. The metal scraped and twisted against the floor, but the field didn't break. "Now let's see how far we can separate."  
  
John stayed where he was while Rodney and Jeannie walked slowly in opposite directions of him. Rodney had made it almost to the door when John shouted, "Stop!" When Rodney turned back, the other boy was gripping at his temples, wincing in obvious pain. "So, I guess we found the limit."  
  
Rodney trotted back immediately, putting a hand on John's shoulder and feeling the warmth of his skin, not the slick green of a shield. "What was that?"  
  
"The mental equivalent of 'danger, Will Robinson.'"  
  
"You okay?"  
  
John nodded, straightening up and letting the shield drop from his chest. He grinned. "This is great. Now that we're invincible, the  _two_  of you can come with me to help look for my dad."  
  
"Come with you where?"   
  
"To the other places where they're keeping people. This city is huge and there's probably some dangerous things in it. I didn't want to put you guys at risk, but with this shield we can go wherever we want!"  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you're thinking so analog! Traverse a whole city and sift through 25,000 people when they've had volunteers taking down names and organizing things! Look, I couldn't find anything on your father in the database, but they haven't loaded a list of the people they've inventoried yet. I haven't had too much trouble accessing their central server, but in all likelihood, they won't have a centralized list posted for a while, and hacking into their individual computers over an alien-computer mediated wireless system is harder than it looks. So, if we can get a hold of one of their computers, we can either find a copy of the master list on the bosses' CPU or we can write a program to compile any individual lists kept on each separate user's hard drive! And, then, we can find your father and where they've got him, and knock on wood," he knocked on the side of John's head, "it'll be close and we'll barely even have to  _walk_."  
  
John's smile was radiant, almost too big for his delicate, boyish features. "Awesome. I knew there was a reason I should be friends with you."  
  
"There is still the problem of how we're going to  _find_  one of their computers when we're alone in an abandoned warehouse, in the middle of god-knows-where."  
  
"No problem. We'll just go back to the turbo-lift thing and make it back to the Batcave, and then we'll be able to follow your map back to the right pier."  
  
"You know, that's bizarrely logical. For you."   
  
John grinned, even going so far as to take Jeannie's hand when they walked back towards the tower they'd come from not that long ago. Rodney knew that John didn't think he was watching when he sneaked the Power Broach into the pocket of Jeannie's fluffy purple jacket, but he saw it. His first impulse was to tell John that he was the one who should keep it, but that would be wrong. Jeannie had to stay safe. Rodney couldn't live with himself if he ended up bringing her all this way only to have something horrible happen to her.   
  
They all stepped into the turbo-lift while John studied the map in front of them.   
  
"Well, what are you waiting for? Take us back!" Rodney exclaimed. "It's almost lunchtime."  
  
"Um, Rodney, I think we have a problem."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
John indicated the map. "Remember when I said the red dot meant 'you are here?' Well, it's no longer there. There's no white dot on this map."  
  
"Makes sense. If I had a Batcave, I wouldn't want you to be able to get to it from any old place. Look, there aren't that many piers on the map. We know where we are. Why don't we just try all of them until we find the right place?"  
  
"Okay," John nodded, reaching out to press the next arm of the snowflake. The doors opened to reveal - nothing at all what they were expecting. "Um, Rodney, is it just me, or does this corridor look a little different?"  
  
As it turned out "a little different" was the understatement of the century. Before the corridor might've passed for a stained glass art deco version of the lobby of a chain hotel. The passageway before them looked like it would be more at home as the set of a Rob Zombie movie. Rodney could practically feel the rotting corpses lusting after his brain.   
  
"Oh my god, we're going to die. They go to all this trouble to export my brain to another planet only to have it  _eaten by zombies_  because somebody can't find his own ass with a homing beacon and a search and rescue division!"  
  
John just rolled his eyes and pressed the map again.  
  
The next room was the size of a theater, clearly used as storage space. One side was stacked high with crates and metal trunks bearing the unique emblem of the USAF and sometimes that stupid SGC triangle logo. The other side must have been dedicated to some of the devices Dr. R. Zelenka and Dr. B. Gaul referred to as Unknown Ancient Artifacts. They ranged in size from small hand-held devices piled in overflowing boxes to a large sphere taller than Rodney. "Cool," John remarked. "But not right."  
  
"Hm," Rodney was momentarily distracted by the bold military stenciling proclaiming MREs. Who knew how long they'd be at this? There were at least forty locations on that map, and they weren't even sure one of them was where they'd just come from. If they ended up getting even  _more_  lost, then it might be days before they got anything to eat. Might as well stock up now.   
  
"Rodney," John whined. "What happened to alien zombies and booby traps?"  
  
"Oh, relax. This is clearly a room that's already been inspected and in use. And if we're going to be traipsing around a 10,000-year-old city like Hansel and Gretel, then I'd prefer to do it without the hypoglycemic coma."  
  
John looked reluctant, but he helped Rodney raise the lid of one of the crates, choosing a chicken fajita meal and settling down with his back against some large bronze drum, complete with 70s sci-fi style blinking lights.  
  
Rodney pulled out a meatloaf for himself and macaroni for Jeannie, taking the liberty to stuff a few extras into his laptop bag. Who knew when he might want a snack?  
  
"So," Rodney asked, "you mentioned  _Star Trek_. Kirk or Picard?"  
  
John frowned. "Kirk had Spock, and Scotty, and he got to make out with Uhura, but he was also a little annoying. But Picard never left the ship. Plus he was kinda gay."  
  
"Make it so!" they added in unison.  
  
"You know, I think I liked Sisko the best."  
  
"Captain of the space opera?"  
  
"There was that, but he was a cool guy. And he had a kick ass ship."  
  
"And the Enterprise isn't? That thing was a flying metal pancake."  
  
John shrugged. "Doesn't matter what it looks like if it's both fast and invisible. How cool would that be?"  
  
John did have a point there. "But you have to go with classic-- What the hell was that?!"  
  
"What?" John whirled around, just missing Rodney's jaw with his bony elbow.   
  
"I swear I saw a shadow." Rodney pointed to the wall behind John's head. It had streaked by, but slow enough to leave the impression of a cloud, as dark as the abyss itself.   
  
"Okay, somebody has been watching way too much  _Ghost Hunters_."  
  
"It was there." Rodney scrambled to his feet, grabbing his laptop, but leaving the half eaten MRE, and pushing Jeannie behind him. John followed suit, but he still looked doubtful.  
  
"Are you sure--"  
  
But there it was again, against the far wall this time, billowing forward then hanging there like an empty black mist. "Okay, I've definitely seen this one on  _Ghost Hunters_."  
  
Rodney backed slowly towards the turbo-lift, his heart hammering against his chest like it was trying to break out of the prison of his ribcage. His palms were sweaty and his hands trembling, but he kept his eyes on the back of John's neck and the patch of darkness that seemed to creep towards him. He scooped Jeannie up in his arms, ready to run with her if he needed to, while the blackness seemed to slither towards John.   
  
Rodney and Jeannie were almost in the lift when John stumbled, falling ass over teakettle over a packing crate. Rodney didn't think, he just darted forward, grabbing John's arm and yanking him back with him into the turbo-lift and hitting the first white dot his finger found.

***

Rodney sure was a lucky S.O.B., John mused as they snuck their way back into their original warehouse. People were up now, milling around and talking, or huddled into small groups, crying quietly to themselves. "Do you think we should tell someone about the ghost?" John asked, worried.  
  
"First of all, there's no such thing as ghosts."  
  
"Didn't stop you from running away from it," John pointed out. Not that he hadn't been scared, too.  
  
"Just because it's not a ghost doesn't mean we should go up and make friends with it. There has to be a rational explanation. Besides, the thing's been around for 10,000 years, give or take, without damaging anything. And these people have had a colony here for a while before that. I'm sure they're aware of the problem already. Now do you want me to help you find your dad or not?"  
  
It was easy to head back over to their little nest of blankets. John was exhausted and bruised, his lungs still a strained from the night before and his heart still hammering from their close encounter with the black mist. But when they moved through the crowd to their little area, he still had enough energy to push Rodney and Jeannie behind him defensively, surprised to find a man already sitting in their area on a cot that he didn't remember from the previous night, a laptop open in front of him. He was stocky and well-muscled, slightly balding. He didn't look like too much of a threat - a banker or a computer programmer, maybe, from the prim but relaxed way he held himself. Definitely not military and too boring-looking to be anything dangerous. Still, he was big enough that John definitely couldn't take him in a fight.   
  
"Who's that?" John whispered, agitated. Rodney should have thought to protect his stuff better. Just because the people here had all lost their planet, didn't mean they were above stealing things that might just have been left around, especially from kids. People did a lot of bad things out of desperation, or so John's dad had always taught him.   
  
"Oh, that's just Steve," Rodney waved off the question warily.  
  
"That's not very helpful," John growled. Jesus, didn't Rodney's parents ever teach him not to talk to strangers?  
  
"Some guy I met. May have caught me hacking a few things, didn't turn me in. He's watching our stuff. And-- Hey! Did I tell you that you could use that?" he gestured at the laptop.  
  
"Rodney!" the man was all smiles. "I'm glad you made it back. There were some people here earlier, asking about your friend, John. And this must be him," he extended his hand, which John shook. "Pleasure to meet you." He examined John carefully, almost clinically, his handshake firm and cool.  
  
"Yes, John Sheppard, the boy wonder, meet Steve Reardon, the laptop stealing pain-in-the-ass."  
  
"I'm sorry, Rodney. I couldn't help myself. My ex-wife was a scientist as well, you see. She was, at least. We divorced almost ten years ago, but I wanted to see if she'd made it out here." He sighed. "I guess not. I mean, I hadn't seen her or even thought about her in years, but to think that she's gone - it's a damn shame."  
  
Rodney nodded and then snapped his fingers, possibly trying for sympathetic. "You're probably just looking things up wrong. You," he pointed to Steve, "hand over the laptop and let me get to work. And you," he gestured in John's general direction. "Go weasel away a laptop from Katie Appleseed and the Jolly Green Midget."  
  
"How am I supposed to do that?"  
  
"I don't know. Do I have to do everything around here?" John decided not to point out that he'd discovered the Batcave and the power broach and how to use the turbo-lifts. "And you," Rodney pointed to Jeannie, "sit there, look pretty, and stay out of trouble."  
  
Of course, John was all out of plans to sneak a computer away from the botanists. They weren't keeping them under too close a watch, but if they noticed he was one of the ATA carriers, it wouldn't be long before the military came in and if they came back, one of the people looking for John might come with them. He scrunched up next to Rodney on the cot, watching him look through various pages both in the same scrolling alien text as in the quest room and normal English - everything from papers on something called 'Ascension' to awesome silvery warships like the Naboo fighters (one of the only cool things about the first  _Star Wars_  prequel).  
  
"Stop it!" Rodney snapped. "How am I supposed to concentrate with you ...  _breathing_ like that!"  
  
"Sorry, I didn't know breathing was off limits," grumbled John as he scuffed his foot and tried to pretend that he hadn't just been standing over Rodney's shoulder, clenching and unclenching his fists until he thought his nails would dig through his palm. He didn't understand how Rodney could be so cavalier about the whole thing - he smiled at the code like he was  _enjoying_  himself.  
  
Sure it had been fun to goof around with the shield and with Jeannie, but she was just a kid. They couldn't let her dwell on the fact that her parents were dead. She probably couldn't even understand the magnitude of  _everyone on Earth_  dying. And John tried to put on a happy face. He didn't need these people to see him crying. He certainly didn't need to draw any attention to himself, considering he wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place. They'd all lost loved ones too, or so he assumed the crying was all about. Of course they had. Everyone had lost  _someone_ and it wasn't fair for John to assume that his dad was more important than all of them, just because he was supposed to be here. The people here weren't any  _better_ than those who'd died. Dad had always said that you didn't leave men behind, not even if they were the most annoying stupid faggots you'd ever met, because God had created each individual life for a purpose and you didn't get to judge which ones were worth saving.  
  
John tried to believe that, he really did. But, looking around, he saw families. He'd heard some parents mourning children, but so far that he could tell, he and Rodney and Jeannie were the only kids here who got picked up without their parents. He didn't know Rodney's story, but John wasn't a genius. He needed his dad. After his mom died, his dad had promised that it was just them, the Sheppard boys, but as long as they had each other, everything would work out. Yeah, it had been tough, with Dad gone on assignments sometimes, but he trusted John to be the man of the house when he was gone, and he never left for as long as he used to. It wasn't a lot, but it was all John had and they couldn't have taken that away from him, could they? It just wasn't fair.  
  
Rodney was muttering to himself. "Yes, well, this isn't exactly easy work. I have to design a search program that will detect network interfacing software and passwords of the kind that are used to plug into this system, whatever it is, and then acquire them. No small feat."  
  
"For a man, maybe, but what about a self-proclaimed science god?" John forced himself to tease. Even though they'd just met, it had become clear that the best way to get results out of Rodney was to goad him on.  
  
"Even gods have their limits," Rodney replied. "Speaking of which, hand me a snack bar before I keel over from hypoglycemic shock. Would it kill these people to feed us regular meals like civilized human beings."  
  
"We're getting three meals a day," John pointed out "And you just ate like half an MRE."  
  
"I'm a growing boy. Now, seriously, why don't you go, I don't know, play with your hair, or whatever you do to pass the time? You're not helping."  
  
John gritted his teeth. From trying to install gaming software on his computer, of course he knew that hacking wasn't like they made it seem on TV. It took a long time and was probably very frustrating. But this was his dad, and though he saw the logic in simply checking the records, he wanted to be out there, searching and trying to keep his mind off the possibility that there might not be anyone to find. Anything would beat just sitting here, waiting for the bomb to drop. "Sorry, I just. He's my dad and--"  
  
"Don't worry, I understand," Rodney grumbled. And all of a sudden John realized how selfish he'd been. Rodney and Jeannie were by themselves here. If they'd come with their parents, then their parents would be here. If there was a chance that their parents were elsewhere in the city, Rodney would have hacked the system already looking for them. And instead of curling himself up in a ball and crying, like John was still tempted to do, even though he had no idea if his dad was alive or dead, Rodney was devoting all his energy to helping John out.  
  
"I'm sorry. I--"  
  
"No, it's okay," Rodney replied. "They didn't--" he choked on his words. "They were my parents and I'm sad that they're dead, but," he looked pointedly over at where Jeannie was playing on a pink laptop. "We're together and we're better off without them."  
  
John gulped. He wasn't good at discussing these kinds of things. In the Sheppard household, men were strong and held their feelings in. But still, he had to know. He didn't want to believe that Rodney was just the cold kind of person who didn't  _care_  if his parents were killed. He seemed like an all right guy. In fact, he seemed like the kind of guy who John would really like for a friend. "They abused you?"  
  
Rodney snorted. "Nothing like that. It's just. I'm a genius."  
  
"Really? I hadn't heard."   
  
"I'm a genius and Jeannie's almost as smart and they wanted us to have the 'normal life' the way they experienced it, even if that includes getting beat up for being a geek or yelling at us to play down how smart we are. I--" John could see tears welling up in Rodney's disturbingly wide eyes, but he sniffled a little and sucked them back in. "They were my parents, of course I'm sad," he snapped, lowering his voice to a whisper. "But," he nodded over towards Jeannie. "If I start, then we won't be able to stop the waterworks and do  _you_  have any idea what to do with an upset six-year-old who's just lost her parents? Because I certainly don't." It sounded callous, but John understood. Rodney had Jeannie, at least, and he was going to do his damnedest to be strong for her.  
  
"It's okay. I didn't mean anything by it. You don't - you shouldn't feel like you have to - just, um, I'm sorry."  
  
"Me, too. I, um, better get back to it. How about you go talk to Steve? He looks lonely."  
  
Rodney dove back into his work, leaving John and Steve staring at each other, awkwardly. "So, um, Mr. Reardon, what in particular had you recruited here?" Steve had a piercing, almost hungry stare that was starting to creep John out a little.   
  
"Please, John, call me Steve. I'm a geneticist," he replied with a placid smile, keeping an eye on where Jeannie was unpacking a stuffed unicorn and playing with it quietly. John should be glad that at least  _someone_  seemed to be looking out for her. Rodney, regardless of how much he seemed to care, was oblivious. "I do a lot of tests with mice, mostly dealing with the effect of genes on their behavior. Boring stuff. Nothing a young boy like yourself would be interested in."  
  
"How do you know that?" Just because John would rather be out on his skateboard than inside learning about boring old genetics didn't mean that he  _couldn't_  be interested.  
  
"Shall I tell you about the social deficits in the Fmr1 mouse? Or perhaps the effect of Bisphenol on the epigenetic programing of fetal mice?"  
  
John tried not to grimace, knowing that it wouldn't be polite. "No, thanks. It's okay."  
  
Steve grinned triumphantly. "See? Not interested. When I was a handsome young man, like yourself, I had better things to think about as well. I much preferred the feel of the sun on my skin to the laboratory. And sex of course. That's all you boys think about isn't it?" That was true, obviously. John'd like to experience sex before he died. He'd already accomplished one major life's goal by catching a glimpse of Ricki Hawthorne's naked breast when her bikini top had "accidentally" slipped at the school car wash. But it was one thing to think about it and another to have some nearly forty-year-old guy going on about it.  
  
"I guess." John gave his best apathetic 'nothing to see here but pesky teenager' shrug.  
  
"I'm sure you do," Steve went on. "Young bodies like yours are--" thank god he was interrupted by Jeannie suddenly jumping to her feet, running over and practically falling into John's lap. "I just had a brilliant idea," she piped up, sounding a little too much like Rodney.   
  
"Brilliant, really?" John asked, forcing the smile that had disappeared with their previous discussion.  
  
Jeannie nodded.  
  
"Fine, let's hear it." Rodney crossed his arms across his chest, apparently his signal for out of patience and huffy. Steve just blinked at her blandly.  
  
"Why don't you just ask her?" Jeannie announced.  
  
"Who?" Rodney asked.  
  
"Her," Jeannie pointed.  
  
John wanted to remind her that it wasn't polite, but it wasn't really his place.   
  
"Not the glorified gardener! Botany's not even a real science!"  
  
"But she seemed nice yesterday, when you were gone. She gave me a hug."  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to teach you that there's a difference between nice and competent. Remember, the road to hell is paved with good intentions?"  
  
"You said that hell wasn't real, and I could give up broccoli for Lent."  
  
"It's a  _metaphor_ , you little hellion. But, you know, she does have a point. I mean, hacking into their network has its own merits, like figuring out exactly what you Yankee boneheads have done to our planet, and possibly staving off incurable boredom, but it might be more expedient to just ask."  
  
John winced. He'd tried that already, but Colonel Lorne hadn't gotten back to him. And he wasn't even supposed to be in this section himself, so it might be trouble if she checked. "But you  _can_  hack it, right?"  
  
"Of course I can. Genius, here, remember?"  
  
"How could I forget, what with you  _reminding_  me every five seconds?"  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Rodney pointed, clearly the source of Jeannie's bad habit. "Go, and turn on the charm. I doubt her IQ's high enough to delineate between a real man and this prepubescent boy band thing you've got going on. Or we could send Steve," Rodney looked him over skeptically. The man wasn't unattractive, but the botanist probably didn't want to hear about sex and mice genes either.  
  
"Oh, no. I think John is a much better bet than I am. He's a charming young man." Steve grinned.  
  
"Um, thanks, I guess."   
  
"Well what are you waiting for?" Rodney demanded, already engrossed in his laptop again.  
  
John took a deep breath. He didn't know anything about charming women, but if Rodney thought it'd work, then maybe he'd give it a try. He spread his legs a little, trying for a saunter. Yeah, he could get into this - just like Han Solo. There she was, typing on her tablet computer. Han did this thing with his hips, the tenth graders had told him it was something to do with leading with your manhood, so the chicks could see. John tried it, and promptly tripped over, well,  _something_ , falling flat on his face at the woman's feet.  
  
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, immediately kneeling beside him and helping him to his feet. Her hands were cold, but she smelled sweet - like flowers, he supposed. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." He waved her off. He did trip over his own feet at least once a day, after all. "Sorry."  
  
She smiled sweetly. "You don't have to apologize to me. I'm just glad you're okay."  
  
John let her pull him up, surprised by the strength of her grip. "Me too."  
  
"So, is there something I can do for you?" She looked tired, with dark rings under her eyes, or maybe like she'd been crying.  
  
"You know what, there is." He looked down at his shoes. She was pretty and way too sincere. He had to pause and remind himself that there was no deception here. He had a legitimate question to ask. "I'm looking for my father."  
  
"Well, no one's allowed out of their housing arrangements, so that shouldn't be hard." She seemed almost relieved. Maybe she'd been expecting a much more difficult task.  
  
"No, um, he wasn't home for the evacuation. He was deployed. And I need to know if he's in one of the other evacuation groups."  
  
"Hm." She frowned. Her lips were almost disturbingly pouty. "You know, I spend most of my time in the greenhouse. Give me a  _parajubaea cocoides_  over a personal computer any day." She laughed, a little awkwardly. "Sorry, botany joke. Dr. Weir hasn't emailed us that information, but I suppose someone might have uploaded a master list to the shared folder." She clicked something on her tablet frowning, then laughing at herself. "I really am hopeless. Let me call my fiancée. He practically set up the system. He'll know."  
  
John smirked in a desperate attempt to hide the tension that he felt close in on him like an iron fist.  
  
She clicked her radio. "Hi, sweetheart.... I'm fine. As fine as you'd expect, at least.... No, we're still supposed to stay with our groups until your department clears more rooms.... At least they've already swept our group for ATA carriers. Are you sure it's necessary to quarantine them?... I see.... I wish we could have been assigned together, too, but you can't leave Radek without his second.... Look, I'll radio you again tonight. I actually have a work related question. I have a boy with me. He's looking for his father and I need to see if anyone has put a list of the evacuees on the network.... I know I need to learn, Brendan," she suddenly snapped, flushing when she noticed that John was still watching her. "Just, not now, okay?... It's fine, I know you didn't mean it. We're all a little on edge right now.... Okay, I'll tell him. You'll let me know if they do?... Love you too."  
  
She clicked off, clearly trying to look reassuring, but no matter what she did, concern and worry shone through. "I'm sorry, nobody's posted that information yet. He'll call back if there are any developments. I'm sure your father's just in another one of the evacuation centers. We're all scrambling right now, but I bet Dr. Weir will have something soon." She looked hopeful, her hand warm on his shoulder. He wanted to throw her off, or at least spit her meaningless platitudes back in her too-pretty face. At least  _she_  had someone, even if he couldn't be with her right now. If they couldn't find his dad, she might feel sorry for him, but she wouldn't be the one left alone.  
  
"It's okay," John couldn't meet her eyes and let her see the lie. It wouldn't be okay, because Earth was gone, and even if John's own small tragedy worked out for the better, nothing could possibly be okay in the face of that many deaths. She was delusional if she thought a pat on the shoulder could somehow change that.  
  
"I'm Katie, in case you missed the announcements. I know--" she trailed off, suddenly shy. "If there's anything I can do, please, it's no trouble. Don't hesitate to ask."  
  
John nodded stiffly, before making his way back to the little nest of mats and blankets that he and Rodney and Jeannie were now calling home. Steve appeared to have retreated to the food line to find them all a good mid-afternoon snack. John considered it a triumph that despite the slight blurring of his vision, he managed to make it back without tripping.  
  
Jeannie giggled at him, jolting John out of his own thoughts in an instant.  
  
"What?" he snapped, not really wanting to deal with her antics right now.  
  
"You tripped. Mer said it was like watching baby giraffes on Animal Planet. That was funny."  
  
"Thanks." John glared.  
  
"Well, I'm sorry if no one bothered to teach you that it's Prince Charming that saves the damsel in distress, not the other way around."  
  
"No, dumby!" Jeannie shouted. "It's 2012. We don't need to follow stupid archaic gender stereotypes."  
  
John couldn't help but smile at that. He couldn't forget that his dad might be dead and a lot of other people definitely were, but the smug smile on Jeannie's face and the annoyed scowl on Rodney's could make him want to forget a lot of things.  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes, ignoring John's impressed look. "Who's been letting you talk to the feminists again?"  
  
"Nobody! I haven't talked to any, I swear!" she vowed, eyes wide, like speaking with a feminist was akin to helping Death Eaters and Hitler torture Santa Claus. "That's what you said to April, when she wanted you to pay for your  _date_  to Six Flags."  
  
Rodney went deliciously red at that, glancing at John out of the corner of his eye, before steeling himself. "Now, look here, you little hellion, I'm oldest and I'm in charge and go to your room!"  
  
Jeannie laughed, scrupulous enough to move over to hide behind John before replying. "I don't have a room, you - you American-Idol-watching  _social scientist!_ " Judging by the look of horror on Rodney's face, this was the height of insult in the McKay family.  
  
"Why you little brat," Rodney made to lunge, stopped only by John sitting in his way. He stuck his tongue out at Jeannie before settling back down with his computer. "But, I'm clearly getting off topic, here. Aside from your lovely interpretive face vs. floor dance, did you find out anything?"  
  
"Nothing. Aside from a bunch of couple talk with her fiancée, she said that nobody had posted a master list to the network."  
  
"That's good."  
  
"No, I think that's not good."  
  
"That's because you're not a genius. She told you several valuable pieces of information there."  
  
"Really? Care to enlighten me, Sherlock Holmes?"  
  
"Ha, ha, very funny, mock the guy who's going to hack an alien-enhanced government network for you."  
  
"Sorry." Rodney was doing him a huge favor, after all. He wasn't just some geek John'd happened to run into and forced to do his bidding; Rodney was the closest thing to a friend John would probably find in this place.  
  
Rodney barreled on, a vague hand wave the only indication that he might even have heard the apology. "First, she told you that there's a personal network, which means all this work I've been doing isn't for nothing. Also, she indicated that people upload finished documents to some sort of centralized location, which means that the individual lists like the one they composed here will probably all eventually be in some kind of shared folder in the database I've already hacked. As it stands it'll take a little longer to search, but it's not as though we have anything better to do. And finally, couple talk. From experience, I can deduce that women in 'serious relationships' are generally susceptible to our secret weapon," he indicated Jeannie, who was watching him from behind John. "No women thinking about marriage can do so without thinking about babies, and no woman thinking about babies is capable of resisting those adorable blond ringlets. My mom certainly can't."  
  
Rodney clearly realized his mistake only a second after he uttered it. His eyes went wide and comically shocked. John might have laughed if he wasn't too busy wincing.  
  
Jeanie's face seemed to implode in slow motion. Her eyes and her mouth scrunched up before she let out a strangely terrifying wail. John fought the urge to just turn and run away.  
  
"Stop it. Stop it," Rodney was saying, patting her awkwardly on the back. "I'm sorry. Jeannie-beanie, stop crying, please." Was it even in Rodney's right to ask her to stop? John didn't know. He had no idea what he'd say in Rodney's place.  
  
He gulped, stepping forward to lay a comforting hand on Jeannie's arm. "Everything's going to be okay. It's going to be fine," he said, even though it could very well be a lie. Things weren't fine. They were  _way_  less than fine. But they would get better. They had to get better, didn't they?  
  
"Jeannie." Rodney gave his sister a small shake. "Jeannie, I know you're hurting, but we have to help John. His dad's missing and we need you to be strong."  
  
Jeannie nodded slowly, hiccuping and wiping the tears from her eyes. She fixed John with such a startling look of sympathy for a six-year-old that he almost took a step back.   
  
"Thank you."  
  
***  
  
The bad thing about Jeannie's little meltdown was that it got Rodney thinking, really thinking. Their parents were dead. And even though he'd contemplated the massive amounts of death that stood behind them because of some stupid planet phasing defensive weapon, he still wasn't over it. Of course he wasn't over it. Death on that kind of scale wasn't something you just  _got_  over. He looked at his sister, trying to imagine the responsibility of taking care of her. Not just staying home to babysit or having to microwave hot dogs for her so she wouldn't burn herself experimenting with the stove, but he'd actually be her guardian, or something like it. He'd be the only one in her universe she was depending on, and Rodney wasn't sure he was ready for that kind of pressure. He could barely stay here watching her cry into the fluffy plush fur of her fake unicorn. "Hey, you mind watching her for a second while I pee?"  
  
"No problem," John replied, looking skeptical.  
  
Rodney grabbed one of the toiletry kits they were passing out at the entrance to the bathrooms and went in, thinking the whole time about Earth. It must be gone by now. The oceans, the endless tundra of the Yukon, the busy streets of Toronto, his parents. He looked away from the small mirror above the bathroom sink (if a spigot and a disintegration field could be considered that). People always said that he had his mother's eyes and his father's chin. He'd always considered himself lucky to get some of their more attractive features. Now, not so much. He wondered if he'd be reminded of them every time he looked in the mirror for the rest of his life.  
  
The number of times he'd wished them dead. He always used to ask himself,  _if they didn't seem to care, why had they bothered to be his parents at all?_  He remembered screaming that he hated them and slamming the door in their faces and them just taking it, like his hatred mattered even less than his dreams. He should've been happy that they were gone. There would be no one to impede his brilliance in this place. In fact, the little of it he'd seen seemed like a genius' paradise. How many of humanity's problems had he blamed on overpopulation or stupidity, neither of which should be a problem here? It was like the great flood all over again, only this time no Sunday school bullshit. This was humanity's chance to do it all over again, and you couldn't make an omelet if you didn't want to break some eggs. That's what he'd always told himself at least.  
  
It didn't explain the tears running down his cheeks, however. It didn't explain a lot of things.  
  
Rodney made quick work of washing up and washing the tears out of his eyes. He'd hack back into that strange computer network. That should keep him busy and that way he wouldn't have to think about it. This was his life now - a supposedly telepathic city floating in the ocean, Jeannie, strange boy with even stranger hair who jumped off docks, personal shields, and botanists. He'd managed to somewhat pull himself together by the time he reached their nest of blankets again.   
  
John and Jeannie seemed to be engaged in some form of battle royale between a Barbie Mermaid and a stuffed unicorn. John had the unicorn hovering over Jeannie's head like a fighter jet and both were smiling. Why couldn't Rodney do  _that_? Before they'd come to this galaxy, he'd barely noticed his sister existed, let alone learned how to make her smile.   
  
Jeannie was shouting, "And Ariel's using her underwater laser! Vrooom!"  
  
John grinned. "Well, Uni's using his magic uni-power shield to deflect! Nyrrrreeee."  
  
"Really, is that the sound it makes?" Rodney rolled his eyes, settling down next to John.  
  
They played a little longer, with John's uni-power extending to also protect Rodney's Boo-bear against the Mermaid laser attack, then paused for a second, grinning at each other. Rodney felt vaguely disgusted with himself, like he was dancing on somebody else's grave, smiling when around them families were huddled in tight masses, crying on each others shoulders, walking up to the food line like zombies or staring vacantly into space. But if Rodney was honest with himself, he hadn't really had many friends back on Earth, and the people he'd called friends had been more cowering minions afraid of his brilliance than actual people he could hang out with, who bothered to have their own opinions about comic books and sporting events. None of them had been anything like John.  
  
After Steve had returned with food, they agreed that Jeannie would go over and charm the botanists while Steve lifted Katie Appleseed's laptop. It was a quick, productive action that yielded spectacular results. While Jeannie was still off sharking the botanists at Crazy Eights, Rodney stared at the hypnotic colors of what some idiot named Gaul had named the Ancient Systems Interface and Substitution Terminal.  
  
To make matters, worse, John was sitting over Rodney's shoulder playing with the heating element from his MRE and purposefully being a moron just to spite everyone. "Hey, that's kinda pretty," he pointed to the colors and the symbols.  
  
Rodney clicked away from the network screen and back to the ASIST interpreter. Nobody had posted a master list since he'd gotten into the system, and so far he hadn't found John Sheppard Senior in any of the other evacuation groups, though he supposed he knew that already. He angled his screen downwards so John couldn't see and tried opening SGC_P1734_Lifeboat_longlist.pdf instead. Maybe if they could find John's dad on that list, it'd be easier to identify his group - there weren't any lists labeled Colombia, or even South America.   
  
There was the now familiar letterhead with the triangle and the circle and the even more ridiculous acronym, SGC. Stargate Command, it sounded like a unit led by Buzz Lightyear. Something about the President of the United States, IOA, some generals in the USAF. Blah, blah, blah. Bureaucratic doublespeak. Military personnel separate system and list, see tiered intervals, blah, blah.  
  
Rodney decided to cut to the important part and just search for his name. And sure enough, there was a page with a particularly unflattering picture of him (back with the bowl cut), medical history, CIA record, short resume. And there, in bold, offensive letters at the top, "Oh, that's just wrong!" Rodney exclaimed.  
  
"What? What?" John asked, jumping up and pressing his nose so close to the screen that Rodney was convinced he might fall in. "Did you find my dad?"  
  
"No, not yet. Active military personnel are being checked in through a separate system that carries additional passwords. It'll take me a while to crack it. I was talking about the evacuation protocols! They have me down as a tier five!"  
  
"Yeah, what an insult." John clearly did not understand the magnitude of the situation.  
  
"No, you don't get it, the evacuation occurs based on various lists. Each tier represents a different time frame, depending on the importance of the people being evacuated. That, at least, makes sense. What doesn't made sense if having me down as tier five! I'm a three, at least."  
  
John still looked doubtful, so Rodney scrolled back up to the Global Overview section. "See, here. Tier Zero is what they call the short list - the number of people they think they can get out in thirty-eight minutes, though why not thirty-seven or thirty-nine, we'll never know. That's VIPs: people like your president, a few important minds in various fields, young healthy people of childbearing age, your basic eugenic grab bag. Tier One is more of the same, plus some generals and bureaucrats, no doubt the people who composed the list. Two is purely SGC science personnel, which also makes sense, considering that those are the people who know anything about the technology. In a rational world, they'd be the first ones through. Three is the top of every current scientific field at the moment, the best thinkers of our generation with priority given to physicists and genetic researchers for some strange reason. Though these boneheads have simply decided to call this group Research Assets. Tier Four is people of Cultural Importance, aka celebrities and politicians. And way down at Tier Five they have me with Additional Possible Research Assets. And first of all, I resent being labeled an asset, as though I'm nothing more than a tool for them. And secondly, how can I be only  _possibly_  an asset? I doubt Maya Angelou could have hacked their fancy pants alien network in under three hours."  
  
"I read her book in English class. It didn't suck."  
  
Rodney gasped in horror. Surely, John was smart enough not to be one of  _those_ people.  
  
"Well,  _that's_  a ringing endorsement. Neil deGrasse Tyson and even Richard Dawkins, I can live with. Ornithology, on the other hand, is a bit of a stretch in terms of real science."  
  
John laughed. "The book's not actually about  _birds_ , Rodney. It's about people."  
  
Social science, then. John wasn't really helping his case. Who knew if this planet even _had_  birds? If they had to bring in the squishy scientists, why not start with marine biologists? "At least I can reassure myself that I got picked before Lance Armstrong and the rest of your so-called cultural icons in tier seven. Six was military, if you were wondering. So are all the even numbers after that. with more scientists and cultural icons in between."  
  
"So my dad must be in one of the military groups."  
  
"Maybe. This document has troops listed by battalion and company, not name. I can check anyway."  
  
John nodded, biting his lip in a way that made him look far too young and not like the Green Lantern at all. Rodney let his fingers fly over the keyboard. He wanted to wipe that look off John's face as soon as humanly possible. "Well, no John Sheppard Senior, but I do have a John  _Junior_."  
  
He clicked on the database entry to find an slightly stoned looking photograph of John himself.  
  
"Not a mistake then," John said matter-of-factly.  
  
"No. In fact, you're in listed as part of a subgroup called known-ATA in tier three." Wait a second. "Tier three! How did you get ranked higher than me? What's your IQ?"  
  
John shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure that's not why I'm here. There must be some mistake."  
  
Rodney thought back to last night (God, it seemed like they'd known each other for far longer) and the way John hadn't even hesitated to throw himself into an alien ocean to save someone. In the bureaucratic mess it must have been to compile a list of 25,000 Rodney didn't doubt that there might be mistakes, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that John Sheppard  _deserved_  to be here. "I don't think so. Who knows what these idiots pick based on? I mean, they evacuated Sting, so for all we know they chose by making a dyslexic monkey throw darts at a copy of People Magazine."  
  
"I'm not a celebrity, Rodney. It's that ATA gene thing. You know, the one that lets me open doors and stuff."  
  
"What does that stand for, anyhow? Apple Tart Avenger?"  
  
"Ancient Technology Activation."  
  
"These people are really bad at naming things. But, hey, you're here. That's all that matters."  
  
John nodded, seeming to brighten. "How long until you get the military list?"  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Pushy much?"  
  
"Yes," John replied decisively.  
  
"Fine. Fifty five minutes." He was done in twelve.  
  
But only managed to keep John from seeing the screen for another fifteen. He'd just found some information he thought might stall John even more when John crept up behind him, putting an arm around his shoulder in a way that was both overly-familiar and menacing. "Care to tell me what you're hiding, Rodney?"  
  
"No, I just have to decode one more--" Rodney had always know he was a terrible liar. But what was the point in lying when you could simply bully someone with the overwhelming logic of your unmatched intellect?   
  
"Rodney." John sounded suddenly serious. Even his voice cracking couldn't dampen the near murderous focus of his gaze.  
  
"Um, yes, so I managed to find the military section of the database. Apparently these people actually do understand the meaning of the word transparency. That or there's no point beefing up security when a good portion of the scientists here could hack the usual military encryption in a heartbeat. But who knows how they do things in the Marines, eh? They could've forgotten to register him or put him in a separate subgroup because he'd been abroad during the evacuation and - where the hell do you think you're going?"  
  
John had stood and was now walking, quickly but almost calmly toward the hidden entrance to the building. Jesus. He couldn't just go out there by himself! In the fifteen minutes he'd been sitting around pretending to code, Rodney had discovered all different kinds of reports on this city, including telepathic alien whales, body swapping machines, and cleaning robots with deadly disintegration lasers. And though one of the expedition's goals for the past eight years had been to explore every nook and cranny of this place, it was a flying city the size of Manhattan, and Dr. Zelenka (whoever he was, Rodney had never heard of him) had reported that they'd only been able to identify a fraction of the technology they'd found around here. John couldn't just go wandering around alone in that! They'd been lucky to survive the trip back from the infirmary intact.  
  
"John!" he whispered as loud as he could without drawing attention to himself. "I hate you." He grabbed his laptop, tucking it under one arm, before following. Just as he was about to dart out the door and into the pastel haze of afternoon on this planet, Rodney checked over his shoulder to make sure that Jeannie was still well occupied with the botanists. She was sitting in that Brown woman's lap, crying. For a second, Rodney wanted nothing more than to go over there and hug her and comfort her, but he didn't have the first idea how to make anything better. On Earth, he'd ignored Jeannie, tolerated her at best. He certainly never would have thought to rock her the way the woman was doing, or murmur whatever she seemed to be repeating over and over. Besides, he had to go rescue John. The kid was like a bull in a bomb factory. He'd probably trip and accidentally blow the whole city up without Rodney's help.  
  
Once the door had shut behind him, Rodney tried calling out John's name, but the kid just kept walking, faster now, with his head tucked down and his arms limp and useless at his sides. "John, you can't seriously be going out there! I've just been reading about everything and who knows what kind of traps these 10,000-year-old assholes might have set? Um, in terms you can understand, like Indiana Jones and the rolling boulder only more advanced than Einstein's best wet dream."  
  
But John didn't seem to be listening. In fact, his long legs were now pumping hard, carrying him towards the nearest building.  
  
Rodney's general philosophy regarding running was that he didn't do it, other than on pain of death, physical harm, or his scary lesbian gym teacher. But he was proud that he made it all the way to the first skyscraper at the beginning of the pier without an asthma attack (not that he had been diagnosed with asthma, but he'd heard that it could spontaneously develop due to changes in environment or stress levels, and he couldn't think of better examples of both than his current situation).   
  
"John!" he shouted. "Wait up, you puffy-haired moron!" John had already ducked into the wide stained glass archway that made up the entrance of the skyscraper with the transporter. Rodney pushed one more burst of speed out of himself, not wanting to risk John going off on his own. Without Rodney, he'd probably get eaten by a "ghost" and never find his way back. But the time Rodney stumbled, panting, into the building, John had made it to the end of the corridor, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. Rodney, running full tilt after him, didn't have enough time to fully decelerate before he crashed into the nearest wall.  
  
"Nice," John snorted from the floor. He needn't have bothered to hide his face in his hands that way. It was clear he'd been crying. Rodney might've done a lot more of that too, if he hadn't been so swept up in everything - Jeannie and the evacuation and shield devices and John's quest to find his father. And it was just like his parents to send him a guilt trip from beyond the grave. He should have been mourning them, like the woman who'd nearly drowned herself or the other families milling about the evacuation center like ghosts.   
  
But it hadn't hit him until this very moment: seeing John curled up in the corner of a technologically advanced closet trying to pretend his eyes were dry. Rodney felt his knees go weak, then suddenly give out, so that he slid down the wall next to John.   
  
"They're all gone. Jesus, they're gone." He'd looked through the names and seen the carefully worded justifications. Everyone had a reason to be here and even though Rodney had never believed in God or heaven and hell, this was Judgement Day, and the people who'd survived had done so by their merits. Did it really matter if it was man or deity who entered their names on the list? Rodney had always believed that he deserved reward for his intelligence and stupid people were a waste of space and resources, but he hadn't meant it. God, he hadn't meant it.  
  
"It's stupid," John mumbled, talking into his knees where he'd pulled them up to his chest. "I shouldn't feel bad. Seven billion people are dead and I'm only sad because of my father."  
  
"It's not stupid," Rodney managed. He put an awkward arm around John's shoulder when all he wanted was to shake him until he smiled and talked about the Green Lantern and mermaid lasers and fun things again. "The human brain isn't built to understand numbers larger than what we can touch." It was a social science sentiment, but Rodney had to admit the truth in it. Emotional units, at least, had never made sense to him bigger than one. He could count on one hand the moments when he'd been able to love his mother, his father, and Jeannie unfettered and equally. "It's not a crime to pick one focal point in order to understand a larger set."  
  
"Jesus," John sniffed, wiping his eyes. "You make it sound like  _math_."  
  
"Sorry." So maybe Rodney  _was_  emotionally unhealthy and defensively rational, or whatever the shrinks had said in the records he hacked.   
  
John grinned at him then, though his lower lip trembled and he sucked in a sobbing breath. "S'okay. It makes sense."  
  
"Hey, maybe he's just not in the database. They could still have evacuated him. It'd be irresponsible to leave a kid without his father."  
  
"They didn't bring your parents."  
  
"They weren't there when they beamed me. Let me bring Jeannie, though. Maybe your dad is with the soldiers in the barracks and they just haven't inventoried him yet." It was a long shot, but Rodney couldn't stand to see John like this - without hope and his usual bright grin.  
  
"Maybe." John wiped at his runny nose, as though trying to erase the tears still flowing. He didn't sound convinced.  
  
They sat there in silence for Rodney had no idea how long. He didn't pull John into his lap or rock him or whisper empty platitudes in his ear, but maybe he cried a little, too, pressed up against John's side, close enough to hear every hitching sob and remember it. Maybe later he would remember this moment as the one where the world truly ended, his world at least.   
  
"I'm sorry I ran away from you. I guess if I'm sad, I just like to be alone. My dad, he says-- he used to say that men don't cry." John sniffled. His eyes were red now, and his cheeks stained with tears, but at least he was actually looking at Rodney now.  
  
Rodney didn't know what to say to that. His parents hadn't really pushed him either way. "Well, if there were ever an occasion when it'd be acceptable, I'm sure the end of the world would qualify. Now, I hate to bring it up now, but while I was stalling, I found some info about your suicidal girlfriend."  
  
"She's not suicidal," John grumbled, rubbing the tears out of his eyes.  
  
"Yes, well, she's not free either. They have her in holding cell B."  
  
"Damn it!" John exclaimed, slamming his fist back against the wall they were pressed back against. "Okay, calm down, John. What's the plan?" He looked at Rodney expectantly.  
  
"Plan? What plan?"  
  
"How are we going to rescue Jennifer?" John's grin lit up his face in a brilliant, maniac sort of way. No doubt the girls loved it. It figured, Rodney's first friend would be the pretty boy type. They'd have no chance of getting along in the long run.  
  
"Oh, no. No, no, no. Haven't you gotten me in enough trouble for one day? And we already saved her life once. Isn't that enough?"  
  
"Rodney, she was terrified of these people. They tried to take you away from your sister. They want to lock me up. Obviously some of them mean well, but she wasn't making stuff up. She warned me about what they'd want to do to us. That guy, Bates, probably has her right now!"  
  
"She's suicidal! And under guard!"  
  
"I already told you she wasn't trying to kill herself. But if you're saying you can't do it--" John narrowed his eyes, looking stubborn but no less attractive. Rodney was surprised they weren't being swarmed by sappy preteen girls as they spoke.  
  
"No! Of course I can do it. I am a genius. I'm just saying that I'm not sure that the benefit outweighs the risk in this case. Maybe she's better locked up. Did you ever think of that?"  
  
"She said not to trust these people and now they're going to lock all of us up. That hardly makes her the bad guy. And she was trying to escape, not commit suicide. Look, you don't have to help if you don't want to, but I would consider it a favor."  
  
"A really big favor," Rodney grumbled. "Of which I've already you several, might I add."  
  
John grinned like Rodney had already said yes. "So you'll do it then?"  
  
Rodney glared.  
  
"Pleeeeeaaaase." That was possibly the most annoying voice Rodney had ever heard. "It's the right thing to do."  
  
"Fine, fine, I'll help you, but I don't see any way we could possibly do it without at least one adult. Which means  _you'll_  have to ask Steve."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because she's being guarded by  _Marines_. There's enough going on that in all the organizational chaos we might be able to get her out, but they're not just going to release her to a couple of kids. Now, I've already created a program that tracks their radio usage. It's currently recording audio clips of Dr. Weir. It shouldn't be too difficult to string a few of those together to create the order. The radios work by using voice recognition software to switch to the proper channel to speak to someone."  
  
"Like the communicators on  _Star Trek_."  
  
"Yes, like the communicators on  _Star Trek_ , if you want to be so simple minded."  
  
"You know what? I think I do." Nobody should look so self-satisfied after coming out of the geek-closet. Rodney kind of wanted to hit him. "So you were saying - about the radios?"  
  
"I was saying that all we have to do is find out one of the guard's channels, tap into it and play our Dr. Weir recording."  
  
"And you think this is going to be easy?"  
  
Rodney nodded. "Like taking candy from a baby. The CIA didn't recruit me for my personality."  
  
"Clearly. And since when does the CIA recruit teenagers?"  
  
"Since brilliant people like me constructed nuclear bombs for their grade six science fair projects. Genius, genius, genius. I can't seem to stress it enough."  
  
"Trust me: you've stressed it plenty. Now, Mr.  _Genius_ , care to tell me how you're going to get them to just let Jennifer out with a simple radio message? They'll put her in the ATA holding area."   
  
"This is why I'm the genius and you're the lifeguard. All we've got to do is get a military uniform and get Steve into it."

***

John waited out in the hallway while Rodney went back for Steve and his laptops and Jeannie. There was one of those turbo-lifts right down the hall and he felt drawn to it. He could almost hear a very Rodney-like voice in his head ordering him not to mess with it until he returned with a plan to go rescue Jennifer. But when they did rescue her, they'd need some place to hide. They couldn't very well go back to the hangar. Katie the Botanist already knew them all. And when Lieutenant Cadman got back on shift, it'd be all over. She knew John had the ATA gene and she'd lock him up fast.   
  
So John stepped up to the turbo-lift. The Batcave would be the perfect place to hide out. It was connected to the turbo-lift network and it also had an access to the central area of the city, in case they needed to get out fast. He stared at the place it had been on the map. There wasn't a white dot there, but he tried pressing it anyway. The doors did shut, but they just opened up on another boring hallway on another boring pier. He stepped outside, watching the sun set now and recognizing the building where they'd tested the shield. Maybe they could make this their hideout. It wasn't as secret, but is sure seemed deserted. Then again, if John were the military commander of the base, he'd want patrols around every place on the map that a turbo-lift linked to. Surely they would have been scouted out at the very least. And if any of those ships Rodney had been looking at on the screen were in the air, then they'd be in danger of being spotted traveling on the pier between the building and the turbo-lift.  
  
But then why had it brought him out here when he'd touched the place on the map where the Batcave had been? It must be more than a coincidence that this had been the only blue light on the panel in the room and also the place it spit them out. That was it! It wouldn't make sense for you to be able to access that room from anywhere in the city, if someone just stumbled and hit the wrong place on the map. If John were designing a secret lair, he'd make it accessible from only one place. And that one place was obviously here!  
  
"Well, here goes nothing," he said to himself, closing his eyes and concentrating on his destination as he pressed the empty spot in the center of the map where the Quest Room had been. When he looked, however, it was the same pier behind him. "Well, that  _was_  nothing."   
  
Damn it. There had to be a way back there without going through the city. The fact that the lift had taken him here meant that there must be some clue. He looked around. The turbo-lift didn't look particularly different. In fact, the map looked exactly the same. He felt around the cornice work for panels and hidden buttons and things. He definitely found some trays of clear crystals and glowing lights, but those looked too serious to mess with. There must be something simpler.   
  
If there was, however, he couldn't find it. "Why won't you take me to the god damned Quest Room?" John demanded, giving the lift a firm kick.   
  
He was surprised as anyone when it responded, the map flashing briefly green, with a hexagonal shape outlined there, before returning to the usual snowflake-like map. But in that two second flash, John had recognized the distinctive hexagonal shape of the power broach. "Detective John Sheppard for the win," he remarked to himself, hitting the location of the hangar to go tell Rodney.  
  
...who was scowling at him when the turbo-lift doors opened, Steve and Jeannie flanking him. "Oh, there you are. Couldn't just sit tight and wait for me where you were, eh? Had to go traipsing off on your own. What is it? Are you so addicted to adrenaline that you can't wait twenty minutes? And now there's a lock-down in place. God knows why. Something about  _energy_  creatures, if I'm reading the memos of these baboons correctly. Seriously, John, how--"  
  
"Rodney," John interrupted, "I found a way back to the Batcave!"  
  
"--and energy creatures could mean serious trouble. Considering there's already a least one Marine-- wait. What?"  
  
John rolled his eyes. Rodney sure could rant. "I  _said_  I found a way back to the Batcave. You know, the Quest Room? You and Jeannie can wait for us there, while we get Jennifer."  
  
"Jeannie and I. No, I think not, Sheppard. Like you can execute this without me. You're lucky you can figure out how to untangle yourself from your hair on your own, let alone complete the necessary programing to navigate your way around and operate the vocal simulation software."  
  
"And you walking around with your nose in your laptop will be perfectly inconspicuous? You have a sister, Rodney," John whispered under his breath. "You have to stay with her. Steve and I'll be fine. Now, c'mon. Time to head to the Batcave."  
  
Rodney sighed, nodding. "I guess I can work something out." He handed John a duffel and what appeared to be a trashbag full of MREs before joining him in the turbo-lift.  
  
John pressed the empty space on the map first, getting them back to the other pier.   
  
"Wow," Steve commented. "Instantaneous transport. This could come in useful."  
  
"There are a lot of cool things around here," Rodney piped up. "For example, earlier, we found a--"  
  
John elbowed him in the ribs, with a significant look. Steve was supposed to be on their side, obviously. And he hadn't given John any reason to distrust him. But then again, he hadn't given John any reason to trust him either. Better to keep their cards close to the chest. "Wait until you see this room, Steve. It's the perfect hideout."  
  
He got the power broach from Jeannie and stuck it to the place on the map it had indicated earlier. In a flash, they were back in the familiar room, setting up a nest of military-issue blankets and food supplies along with a couple of Rodney's laptops. John had barely finished his dinner of half a lasagna MRE before Rodney was waving an iPhone at him and announcing his brilliance. "Here, I've programmed this to hook into the city's wireless system. I'll use it to communicate with you. You remember the plan?"  
  
Yep, John remembered it. He was supposed to sneak into someone's quarters, grab a uniform for Steve and then hope like hell the man could act. Simple. "Yeah. You sure you're good with it, Steve? No second thoughts?" The man was agreeing to possibly get into a lot of trouble just on John's word that Jennifer wasn't suicidal and needed to be protected. John didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but there were some things that were too good to be true.  
  
"Hey, I trust you, kid. If you say this girl needs rescuing, then we've got to do it, eh?" Steve asked, standing and offering his hand to pull John up.  
  
John pushed himself to his feet instead. He turned deliberately to Rodney. "So long," he said with an awkward wave. It felt weird going without Rodney. They made a good team. John hoped they weren't jinxing it by letting Steve in on things.  
  
Rodney gave his own awkward wave back, already typing away on his computer. John barely caught his murmured, "Good luck."  
  
It wasn't hard to sneak out into the alcove. The corridor was busy, but Rodney had tapped into the city's tracking system and told them the exact moment when they could step through the wall that John made permeable with a thought. On their way to crew quarters, they passed by a couple Marines and scientist, but Steve smiled at them, guiding John with a hand on the small of his back. The second they were past, John stepped away, glaring. He wasn't some helpless kid that needed to be led around.  _Open_ , he thought viciously at the door.  
  
"That's quite a talent," Steve remarked, examining John with renewed interest.   
  
John shrugged indifferently, lifting the iPhone and asking, "Rodney? We're waiting on you."  
  
"Good, good, these morons don't have a clue," came the reply. John nearly sighed in relief. At least with Rodney on the other end of the connection, he didn't feel quite so alone.  
  
"What now?"   
  
Rodney directed them to a busier corridor where people were dashing from one place to another, some buried in tablet laptops as they walked, others practically running through the halls. But despite their seeming preoccupation with their various tasks, John was still worried about getting caught. All of these people were wearing some kind of uniform, after all. He and Steve were the only ones dressed in civilian clothes.  
  
"Um, Rodney," he whispered into the phone, "Do you have any plan that maybe involves not being seen by all these people?"  
  
"Hold on," Rodney grumbled. "You're almost there - there aren't a lot of Marines that are just Steve's size. Now, go left. No wait, right. Um, there's a lot of people there. Maybe--"  
  
John rolled his eyes. "Any way I could get a look at this map you're seeing?"  
  
"Hmm." A minute later, the iPhone beeped, displaying a screen with several blinking dots on a map of corridors, like a maze. "You're the dots down at the bottom left. You're trying to get to the room in the third corridor off to the right, fifth door down."  
  
"What's he saying?" Steve asked, crowding John to look over his shoulder at the screen, one hand resting lightly on John's shoulder.   
  
John shrugged him off, sidestepping easily out of the way and down an unused corridor. He could read the damn thing himself. "Follow me."  
  
"Sure thing." Steve grinned as through John hadn't just practically jumped away from him.   
  
They made it to the room without incident, though John had to stop and talk to Rodney again, "What now?"  
  
He swore he could hear Rodney's eyes roll. "Use your magic door-opening gene. Duh."  
  
"Right." John bit his lip, concentrating. There was a resistance there that he hadn't found with the other doors. But then again, this was a man's private residence. He tried to impart a sense of urgency to his thoughts, and just as he felt the slight tingle of a headache coming on, the doors opened with a disquieting swish.   
  
"Good job kid." Steve stepped through without a thought, moving immediately to the closet. John stayed frozen for a second on the threshold. The place looked  _lived in_ , with pictures lining the walls, an impressive collection of Japanese ink paintings, a baseball mitt thrown casually into the corner. Even the military-precise make of the bed somehow lent it character.  
  
"Well don't just stand there!" Rodney squawked over the phone. "Do you  _want_  to get caught and put in an even  _less_  friendly version of the Bates Motel?"  
  
He was right, of course. John was already noticing Rodney's infuriating habit of doing that. So he sucked it up and entered the room, flipping the lights on to full brightness and closing the door with a thought.  
  
Steve met John's eyes as he unbuckled his belt and yanked his pants down, having found a spare uniform. John turned away, reluctant to turn his back when they were so exposed, but even more reluctant to watch a man changing. He gripped the phone like a lifeline, his heart thundering against his ribcage. All this spy stuff looked a lot easier in Bond movies. "So, after this, what's the plan?"  
  
"I thought you said you knew the plan."  
  
"I do! Just--" John forced himself to calm. He knew what he was doing. They could do this.  
  
"Fine, fine. You make your way to sensor blackout area and Steve goes and retrieves your little suicidal  _girlfriend_  from the holding cells."  
  
"No."  
  
"What do you mean, no? You can't go with him. The lie is flimsy enough as it is without a random teenager tagging along."  
  
"She won't just go with him. If she thinks he's another soldier, she'll just try to escape again and our plan won't work a second time."  
  
"Fine," Rodney huffed. "Looking at the map, there's an storage room two corridors down from the holding area, you can hide there if you need."  
  
"Good. And she's not my girlfriend."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
John turned back around to find Steve struggling with a tactical vest. John knew what to do, of course. His father had one not unlike it, and John had tried it on more than once. He stepped forward, quickly doing up the straps and noting the strange stillness in Steve when he did. Probably just the adrenaline.  
  
"He dressed yet?" Rodney asked impatiently just as John got the last strap.   
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Give him the phone."  
  
"What?" John unconsciously gripped it tighter.  
  
"Give him the phone so I can tell him what to say." John hesitated, which only succeeded in making Rodney more impatient. "I'll make him give it back."  
  
John nodded reluctantly, realizing too late that Rodney couldn't see him. He handed the phone over, snapping his hand back when he felt Steve's fingers brush against his. "Rodney wants to talk to you."  
  
John pushed himself further against the wall, listening to Steve agree with whatever Rodney was telling him. He didn't like not knowing what they were discussing. He knew they weren't plotting against him or anything. In fact, they were both going out of their way to help him. He must just be paranoid from all the sneaking around they were doing.  
  
Not more than a minute should have passed before Steve handed the phone back to John, but it felt much longer. His fingertips were smooth and cold against the back of John's hand, and John almost shivered, but chose instead to turn and walk out the door. "Let's go. Before the owner of those clothes comes back."  
  
The holding cells were in a different tower, still close in to the center of the city, but the turbo-lift got them there fast enough. Steve looked good in the military uniform. He carried himself in that same stiff tightly coiled way that John had come to associate with some of the more alert soldiers on base and nobody blinked twice seeing him pass by in the corridors, especially not when he shoved John in front of him and watched his back like a prisoner. Thank god they'd allied themselves with someone who could  _act._  
  
John kept looking over his shoulder, feeling like Orpheus in that myth they made him learn at school. He didn't want to look suspicious, but on the other hand, he really didn't like the creepy feeling of these darker, more heavily militarized corridors. Rodney seemed slightly prone to hyperbole and paranoia, but he'd seemed legitimately frightened of the Peacekeeper sergeant guy, and the wary, sleep-deprived look on the faces of each passing soldier made John think that if there ever was a time for some deep-down psycho to break out with the friendly fire, it would be now.   
  
But Steve nodded blandly at each passing guard, until they were at the heart of the holding zone. "Just up ahead," Rodney's voice whispered in John's ear. John shook with adrenaline now, wondering why again he was doing this for a girl he'd barely met. He had no good answer other than it was the right thing to do.   
  
"Oh, no," Rodney's voice gasped over the phone.  
  
"What?" John hissed.  
  
"Someone's approaching from your left."  
  
John looked frantically around for somewhere to hide, but unlike other sections, this was a heavily secured corridor, with no rooms for escaped prisoners to hide in. Steve stepped forward, grabbing John by his bicep. "Play along," his breath was warm and slick on the back of John's neck, his grip firm. John nodded. He was in way over his head. It was good to have someone else here to take care of things.  
  
"Hey! What are you doing down here?" a voice shouted from the left.   
  
Steve didn't smile, just turned, as though he were expecting the interruption.   
  
"John, right? I thought Beckett said that Cadman took you back."  
  
"Lieutenant Ford," John replied, making sure Steve and Rodney caught the name. "She did. But now this guy is taking me somewhere else."  
  
Ford turned to Steve, looking him over, clearly not recognizing him, just his name tag. "Where are you taking him, Sergeant Smith?" Thank god Rodney picked a soldier's clothes with a very generic name. "I don't think I've seen you around."  
  
"I came in on the last Daedalus run," Steve lied smoothly. This must have been what Rodney told him to say.  
  
"Oh, okay."  
  
"I just had orders from Dr. Weir to take this one and the girl in holding down to our ATA quarantine area."  
  
"Great," Ford smiled. "I was just heading that way. It'll give me a few minutes to get to know you."  
  
Ford and Steve ambled along, their idle chatter echoing through the deserted hallway. John felt like a real prisoner now. The urge to turn and just bolt nearly overwhelmed him, but he kept the phone grasped tight in his hand, holding onto it like an anchor.  
  
"Hey, man, what happened to your weapon? Colonel Sumner issued orders that we all stay armed with Zats until things are settled."  
  
Steve shrugged. "I transferred here to work in ops, Sir. Nobody ever issued me one." Damn, the guy was good.  
  
"That's all right. While you pick up the girl, I'll just grab you one from the Holding Level Armory. I know they won't do us any good against the energy creature Zelenka says is loose, but people are freaking out. Good to have a precaution." He smiled then turned to leave.  
  
"You missed a salute," John whispered to Steve.  
  
"These people don't seem too into that."  
  
John was about to object that if Steve had just transferred in, he wouldn't know that, but he was interrupted by a rather shrill sound from the phone's speaker. "Rodney?"  
  
"Shit. That moron let Ford ID him. Now he'll go looking around for Sergeant Smith. I'm going to have to make up a whole  _file_  for that idiot."  
  
"He said he worked in ops," John added.  
  
"I know. I heard. Just go on, get the girl. I'll talk to you later."  
  
That part of their little mission was actually the easiest. The guards had already received Rodney's fake message when they arrived, and simply nodded to Steve, no questions asked. The security seemed pretty lax, now that John thought about it. But then again, they probably weren't expecting this level of subterfuge from evacuees chosen by their own government.  
  
"How are you taking her?" one of the guards asked.  
  
"She doesn't seem like much of a threat," Steve responded. "Just open the door and I'll take her with me."  
  
"Sure thing." The guard entered a combination into a pad on the cell door, standing at alert when it slid open. To John's surprise, the horizontal slats of the cell flashed with something that looked like a force field just like the green one from the Quest Room, only blue. He gulped, realizing how serious all this was all of a sudden. If they got caught, he doubted even Rodney could get him out of a cell like that.   
  
Jennifer looked desperate, huddled in a corner of the cell, and John wanted nothing more to assure her that everything would be all right, that they were helping her escape, but he knew better, choosing instead to watch the guards and how they automatically moved to block the exit. They hadn't hurt her, as far as John could tell, but her blue eyes flashed with an amount of terror that sent a shiver down John's spine. "Please don't hurt me."  
  
Steve rolled his eyes, giving her a bit of a shove as she stumbled out of the cell. "You're fine. This is for your own good."  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to cuff her?" one of the guards asked, looking nervous.  
  
Steve smirked. "You think I can't take 110 pounds of skinny blond little girl?"  
  
The guards laughed, letting them pass.   
  
Ford was already waiting outside, holding what was apparently a Zat out for Steve. It looked like a snake-shaped gun. "I took that out under my name. Some trouble with the system, considering all the new people we're getting. Just make sure you re-inventory it when all this is over. One shot to stun, two to kill, three to disintegrate the body. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that we're sticking to one shot for now."  
  
Steve nodded.  
  
"What part of ops were you working under again?" Ford asked.  
  
"I'm an engineer by trade, but I'm not sure what Dr. Weir had planned for me," Steve replied.  
  
"Great. I could use another specialist on my scouting team. When you're done playing chaperon, meet us on the third level of tower seven."  
  
"Yes, sir," Steve replied, flashing his disturbingly-white teeth at Ford, who grinned back and slapped Steve manfully on the shoulder.  
  
"Keep up the good work, Sergeant."  
  
Steve nodded, gesturing with the stunner and leading them off down the corridor. The second they made it to the turbo-lift, John gave it the mental command to pause, turning to Jennifer. "It's okay, this man's helping us escape."  
  
"Escape to where?" she asked, scooting closer to him, as though she expected  _John_  to protect her.   
  
"An secret section of the city we discovered. Nobody can track us there. It's off the city's sensors."  
  
"But we'll still be in the city."  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
"Of course you'll still be in the city!" came a voice from the phone John had almost forgotten about. "It's three hundred kilometers to land. Unless you packed an inflatable raft, you're not going anywhere."  
  
"Rodney says it's too far to swim," John translated.  
  
"Who's Rodney?"  
  
"A friend," John replied, hitting a place on the map where the Batcave would be so they emerged back on the pier. "Well, you'd better get back," John told Steve. "The Lieutenant is expecting you now."  
  
"Good job on that," Rodney spoke from out of the phone. "Does he even stop to consider how much this increases his chances of getting caught? Of course not. That would require thinking. And since he's a  _moron_ , thinking wouldn't be his first option, now would it?"  
  
John couldn't help but grin. "Stupid is as stupid does, Rodney."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, give the moron the phone. He'll need it if he doesn't want a problem on his hands."  
  
"But," John didn't want to give up the phone. What if something happened? How was Rodney going to contact him?   
  
"He's going on a scouting mission with one of the  _officers_  in charge of the city. You're just sitting down and shutting up. Who needs it more, hm?"   
  
John wanted to protest that of course he needed it more. Because he needed to talk to Rodney. "But  _Rodney_ ," he whined.   
  
"Yeah, yeah, you can't live without my dulcet tones. Now hand it over. You'll be here in a second."  
  
"Okay," John agreed reluctantly, bracing himself for the cool slide of Steve's fingers over his own. "Well, thanks for all your help," John said. He should have meant it more, considering that Steve was taking just as big a risk as John.  
  
"Thank you," Jennifer added, sticking out her hand for the man to shake. John kept his to himself. "See you soon."  
  
But before they could get back to the Batcave, the light in the corridor flickered, as did the lights on the map, before going out "What the hell?!" John exclaimed.  
  
"John," Steve's voice was deadly calm. "What is  _that_?"  
  
John whirled around to find a familiar darkness sweeping down the corridor towards them. "That's the ghost Rodney and I saw before!" he shouted.  
  
"Ghost?" Jennifer yelled. "But there's no such thing as ghosts!"  
  
"The energy creature everyone's talking about, more like," Steve replied. "You kids get back." He pulled out the Zat gun that Ford had given him and began to fire. But the thing only came quicker and quicker, darkening the whole hallway. John could hear Rodney screaming over the phone, but the turbo-lift was dead. John had no choice but to throw himself over Jennifer and hope for the best while the thing enveloped everything in darkness.  
  
And then it was gone, as quickly as it had appeared, expanding down the corridor like a freight train, off on a course of its own, leaving Steve lying unconscious on the ground like any other flotsam in the wake of a great leviathan. Jennifer pushed herself out from behind John to kneel the unconscious man's his side, feeling for a pulse.   
  
"He's breathing, but his heart rate is erratic. He needs medical attention."  
  
John grabbed for the phone, but that was dead, too. I'll go get Rodney. He can use the computer to radio for help!"  
  
"No!" Jennifer grabbed his arm. "Don't leave me. I can't let them get me."  
  
Well they couldn't just leave Steve unconscious here by himself. "Fine," he handed Jennifer the power broach. "Press this to the middle of the map on the turbo-lift. Go!"  
  
Jennifer nodded, disappearing into the now-functioning lift just in time to miss Lieutenant Ford, a contingent of Marines and a medical team round the corner at a run. Before John knew it, he was being swept into the turbo-lift along with everyone else, headed for the infirmary.  
  
Steve was rushed away from them faster than John could blink and he was left standing alone with Lieutenant Ford. "You okay, kid?" Ford asked, looking John over speculatively.   
  
John put on his best shocked and confused face. It wasn't exactly an act. "What was that thing, Sir?"  
  
"Welcome to the Pegasus Galaxy," Ford replied. "Now, care to tell me what you and Sergeant Smith were doing all the way out here? Or what happened to the girl Smith was transporting when the sensors went down?"  
  
"I don't know," John lied. "This is just where Smith transported us. Maybe there's something wrong with the lifts because of that shadow thing."  
  
"And the girl?"  
  
"She must have taken off. Smith threw me out of the way, Sir. I got the wind knocked out of me. Haven't really had the chance to recover from the pier last night." He rubbed his aching chest for emphasis.  
  
Ford either had the best poker face in the history of ever, or he was really gullible, because he was swallowing it hook, line and sinker. "Actually, Sir, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"  
  
"You don't have to call me Sir, John. You can call me Aiden."  
  
John grinned. Being an army brat, you learned the different types of soldiers quick. There were the by-the-book robotic kind, who'd throw you to the lions if it were required by the regs. There were the partiers, who would indulge you to amuse themselves when they couldn't seem to find a keg to stand on. The fitness buffs and the enlisted geeks and the pyro-hicks. But this guy was John's favorite kind: green as a Roswell alien and as easy to manipulate as a god damned skill crane. "Okay, Aiden. But my dad says that we're supposed to treat officers with respect. He's in the military, you see. Actually, I was hoping you could help me find him. I asked Sergeant Smith, but he just wanted to put me with all the other ATA carriers."  
  
"Your dad's here?"  
  
This part, John didn't have to fake. "I don't know. He was on assignment in Colombia during the evacuation. But they wouldn't have taken me if they hadn't already gotten him, would they?"  
  
Ford nodded, though he didn't appear to know any better than John did. "Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to get someone to take you over to the barracks. Most of the experienced guys are out patrolling for that energy creature or doing a final scout of the new living quarters, but if your dad wasn't stationed at Cheyenne Mountain or Area 51, then he'll be in evacuation barracks according to rank."  
  
"He's a Lieutenant Colonel," John supplied.  
  
"Name?"  
  
"John Sheppard, same as me."  
  
Ford's face fell. "I'm sorry. None of the colonels we got in go by that name."  
  
"Oh." He had been prepared for it. After Rodney couldn't find his dad's name in the database, there hadn't been much hope. But even John's cockeyed optimism couldn't find any now. In books they said that you felt numb or that sorrow would crest over you like a wave, but John's grief was a revolving door. He'd felt it in the corridor with Rodney and he'd wanted to scream it out at the wide blue sea running along the pier and away from the mass of other grievers, but if ever there was a brave new world, they were living it. His life was stained glass windows and ocean currents and vaulting towers and already Earth and those who died with it, were fading like a dream.  
  
"So, um, I know!" Ford looked panicked. John supposed he would be too, if he'd just told a kid that his father was dead. "How about l take you back down to the hangar where you can stay with your friend? The loud one who was visiting with you in the infirmary? I know you're not going to try to run away, right? I can trust you to stay out of trouble and not use your gene for anything?"   
  
John wanted to say no, even though that'd be both rude and incredibly stupid. He wanted to tell this brand spanking new lieutenant where to shove it, because what kind of people will order an evacuation of a kid without his father? There were other families here, happy and together, and he was positive that  _they_  didn't all fit the government's criteria for who to save. Hell, Rodney had told him that he'd been the one on the list and he'd dragged Jeannie along because she was the one home. His parents weren't. Was that the criteria, then? You got to save your family if you could find them in time to take them with you? If John's dad had been in town, could he have told the van driver to go pick him up?   
  
Ford's face fell. "I'm really sorry, buddy."  
  
"I'm not your buddy," John mumbled. "How could you take me and not my father? I'm just a kid and he's a  _hero_. He got a Purple Heart and took a bullet in Iraq and he could have retired to stay home with me when Mom died, but he didn't because he wanted to do what's right for his country and you didn't think he was worth saving!"   
  
John wasn't aware he was doing it, but before he knew, he was rushing forward, his hands curled up into loose fists as he punched at the lieutenant. Ford dodged him pretty easily, allowing John to work it out for himself. It didn't take him long. Ford didn't look like he could even manage to screw in a light bulb without orders, let alone choose who gets on any kind of list. John's internal monologue was already starting to sound way too much like Rodney.  
  
He let his hands fall to his sides, feeling about five years old: stupid and angry and unable to control himself. He was just so damned frustrated. "Sorry," he mumbled, not meeting Ford's eyes.  
  
"No, man, you have the right to be mad. I don't know how they make those kinds of decisions, okay? Just, I'm sorry." When John actually took the time to look, he realized that the soldier really was genuine. He'd lost people too, John was sure - no better off than the rest of them.  
  
"I'm sorry, too."  
  
"Then let's get you back to the pier, then."  
  
"What about Steve?" John asked. He didn't leave people behind.  
  
"He's in capable hands. And we need to get you someplace safe before we hunt down this energy creature."  
  
John nodded. It wasn't as though he had much of a choice. And this way, he got to stay with Jeannie and Rodney instead of either being locked up or going into hiding. The day had really started to wear on him, from his sore muscles and aching lungs to the various bruises from falling down and almost getting squished by a shield. It'd be great to curl up next to his new best friend and even his strangely cute (if also annoying) sister and just pass out.   
  
Unfortunately, in the third corridor after the infirmary, the lights started to flicker again and Dr. Weir's voice came over the PA system. "The energy creature is in the central tower. Stay out of its way, people. Dr. Zelenka is working on a solution."  
  
"Oh no!" Ford shouted, yanking John out of the corridor and into a huge room, with row after row of stacked, room-sized objects that looked a little like bread boxes.   
  
"C'mon. Into a gateship!" Ford exclaimed, pushing on one of John's more painful bruises as he guided him towards one of those things. The energy creature was seeping through the door behind them like water. Ford frantically tapped at a button controlling the gateship's ramp, rawing his weapon at the same time, despite the fact that he'd already told Steve that weapons were no good against the thing.   
  
This wasn't the cool ship John had seen on Rodney's computer. But John was awed nonetheless. He could feel the now familiar tickle at the back of his mind. It would have looked like a string of golden light, maybe a hand beckoning, if it had looked like anything at all. It was another sense, one just out of reach, and it was telling him _come forward, this is where you belong._  He could barely think beyond the cloud of near euphoria tickling his awareness, compelled to slip into the pilot's seat despite a very distracted, "don't touch that" from Ford. The second his hands brushed the two small control sticks, the whole thing lit up, display after display spreading itself out before him.  
  
"You have the gene," Ford said, but John wasn't listening, focusing instead on the danger of the energy creature outside the door and the need to protect.  _Contego,_  he thought, just like the power broach. And sure enough, a sparkling green shield sprung to life around them.  
  
***  
  
"Oh no!" Rodney exclaimed, listening intently to the urgent chatter going on over the radios.   
  
"What?" Jennifer demanded, poking him with a bony knee as she crouched next to him, watching the readout on his laptop. Rodney didn't like the girl, though he did have to admit that she was blond and kind of cute in a paranoid, borderline-anorexic way. He didn't have a chance with her anyhow, not with someone who looked like John hanging around. John had taken a dive in an alien ocean for her, broken her out of prison, and saved her from an energy creature. If Rodney had received that kind of treatment, he might even swoon.  
  
"John. He's trapped somewhere called a Gateship Bay." He showed her the two life-signs on the city map. "And according to that idiot, Ford, they're using a shield to keep the creature away. But it feeds off energy, so they're just making sure it stays, sucking out the shield's energy and growing more powerful. They need to shut it off."  
  
Someone with a very thick accent was shouting at Ford to do the same. But then they lost the whole thing on sensors. Someone had shut off the power to their section and thus Rodney's network connection. The lights fell, causing Jeannie to burrow closer under Rodney's arm and nearer to the feeble illumination the laptop screen provided.  
  
"What was that?" Jennifer pleaded. "Why did the lights go off?"  
  
"They've been trying to lure the thing away from the evacuees by attracting it with various power sources, like playing 'monkey in the middle.' It looks like they're trying to direct it again, only this time, we're in the blackout zone." Rodney stood, pulling a flashlight out of his laptop case and turning it on. Jennifer and Jeannie would be fine with the light from his laptop screen. "Now use that gene of yours to open the door."  
  
"Actually, it's not my gene. I helped develop a therapy that--" Jennifer rambled. "Wait. Where are you going? You can't  _leave_. Not with that thing out there!"  
  
"John's out there and if that shield is the only thing on in this tower then the creature is going to drain it dry and build up enough power that by the time it gets to him and Lieutenant Ford it'll do just like it did to Steve, only worse by a factor of the power in that shield. I'll be fine," he assured her, even though he wasn't positive that would be the case, considering that it was a jungle out there (a terrifying metallic alien one). "Now look after my sister and open the door."  
  
Jennifer nodded, looking pale as death and frightened in the white wash of the computer screen. He hesitated leaving Jeannie with her, but then again, she was a girl. She probably knew a whole lot better how to deal with a panicked six-year-old than Rodney did. He took a deep breath, gathering all his courage and gripping the power broach tight. At least he had one asset in this whole mess.  
  
The corridors were eerie with nothing but emergency lighting and the flashlight beams of the people rushing in the direction of the Gateship Bay the same as Rodney. Thankfully, all the Marines seemed too intent on their destination to notice a scrawny teenager rushing among them. God, Rodney hoped John was okay and that these people weren't going to find to a couple of dead bodies. John may not have been someone Rodney ever would have attracted the attention of on Earth, but they were here now and Rodney would like to think that they had some kind of bond forming. John had pretended to be an unicorn to play with Rodney's sister! That had to count for something.  
  
And Rodney didn't have many friends. In fact, here, John was his only one. He certainly couldn't afford to let his only friend die. Though he was starting to reconsider by the time he arrived, lungs burning from running all the way to the Gateship Bay. Strangely, all the people around him were barely out of breath, as though they were  _used_  to running around like that.  
  
The place was flooded with soldiers and scientists carrying what looked like small tablet computers, disturbingly reminiscent of tricorders. Rodney did his best to be unobtrusive while looking over their shoulders at the readings they were taking, but it didn't take long for one of them to spin around and snap:  
  
"Kurva! Get off, you. This is no investigation for children, yes?" He had wire-rim glasses and messy fly-away hair. He was also a midget.  _Rodney_  was bigger than he was!  
  
"Hey, I'll have you know, I'm a genius."  
  
The mad professor snorted into his laptop. "How do you say? Welcome to the club. Lieutenant Ford, could you please escort these children out, yes?"  
  
Rodney spun around to see Ford and a perfectly intact John standing behind him. "Oh thank god!" he exclaimed, pushing down the sudden urge to run up to John and embrace him. His entire body felt wound up, bursting with joy and a relief so overwhelming that he could barely move, despite wanting to jump up and down and shout. John wasn't dead and Rodney wasn't alone.  
  
"Sure thing, Dr. Zelenka. Though John did do well, controlling the Gateship and all."  
  
 _That_  was R. Zelenka? Rodney's mind boggled. The little gnome was the one in charge of science for this expedition? So what if he had what seemed like a few brilliant theories on the practice of traversing Lorentizan wormholes? He was an ass who couldn't appreciate genius when he saw it.   
  
"Rodney, what the hell are you doing here?" John whispered, angrily.   
  
"Bringing you this." Rodney quietly slipped the shield broach into John's hand.  
  
John didn't seem pleased, nonetheless. "Ford was just about to take me down to the hangar and let me stay with you guys! How are you going to explain how you got here with the power shut down?"  
  
Good point. Maybe they wouldn't notice. He have to distract them. Maybe, they'd forget about it all if he helped them get rid of the energy creature. But how to get rid of it when things like shields and energy weapons would just make it stronger? They needed to send it away, if they couldn't kill it. Then it came to him, clear as day. If it was attracted to energy, truly intelligent or not, all they had to do was find a big energy source to lure it off, like the pied piper. It wasn't enough to just send it running around in a game of cat and mouse. They had to get it out of the game all together. And the only way off this island was the Stargate. It could go through the wormhole. Zelenka's own work had proved this. He snapped his fingers. "I am such a genius."  
  
"And a child," Zelenka murmured.  
  
"Easy on him, Doc. Maybe he has a good idea," Ford put in. Not that someone who'd been keeping the power source on while the thing fed on it, almost killing poor John, had enough intelligence to even recognize genius when he saw it. Ford seemed like the type who'd try to use gasoline to put out a bonfire.  
  
"Fine, fine. This is MGS-577 all over again. You and children!" And quiet a few Czech swear words. "All right, little genius. Let us hear it."  
  
"Use a Gateship. Lure it through the Stargate with its power source," Rodney declared.  
  
"We can't fly the Gateships remotely," Zelenka replied, going back his calculations in a moment.   
  
"Then use something you can control remotely! Strap a power source to it."  
  
Zelenka nodded. "Would need a significant power source. A Naquahdah generator." He nodded to Ford, who rushed off, presumably to get one.  
  
"You don't seem particularly concerned about this," Rodney challenged.   
  
"It comes at a bad time, yes. But these things happen."   
  
Rodney gaped. He and John had unleashed an energy-eating mist being and it was all in a day's work?! "So what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"Your plan," Zelenka replied. "Brendan!" he called out to another man in a similar uniform. "I will set up generator. You organize," he waved to the team of people gathered around them, before turning and heading for the door.  
  
"Wait!" Rodney protested, following after him. "Where are you going?"  
  
"To execute plan." Zelenka blinked at him owlishly. "Where else would I be going."  
  
"Well, take me with you. It's my plan!"  
  
"But you are still civilian, twelve years old."  
  
"Fourteen, and it's not  _fair_." Rodney was, of course, aware that this was not the most mature of statements, but maturity was overrated.  
  
"Who cares about fair? You are child. What would your parents say?"  
  
"My parents are dead!" Rodney protested, his voice coming out much more anguished than the entitled rage he felt.   
  
"Oh," Zelenka replied. "Well, I suppose--"  
  
"Great!" Rodney rushed past him, John slipping after him easily.   
  
"What is this? The carnival?" Zelenka complained. "I am not school chaperon."  
  
"My parents are dead too," John added, resentfully, "If that helps."  
  
Zelenka gulped, but kept walking down a set of stairs and into the room where they'd been evacuated a little over a day ago. It seemed like far longer. Rodney must have known John for longer. Of course now, shrouded in the eerie shadows of dusk flowing through the stained glass windows and with the open wormhole rippling behind it, the place took on a creepy, haunted air that reminded Rodney that the city had lain dormant for 10,000 years at the bottom of the ocean, inhabited only by ghosts. Not that he believed in ghosts, per say.  
  
When they arrived, the scientist had already set up some kind of military remote-controlled-car and a shiny bulbous thing that looked more like an 80s sci-fi style boom-box than a power generation device. Ford was standing guard next to the whole setup, as though  _bullets_  would stop a black mass made out of pure energy. Zelenka, at least, had the sense to rush over to the unit right away, activating it with a few easy and practiced movements.  
  
Rodney gathered with a small group on the gallery atop the stairs. He recognized Dr. Weir, but not the frowning silver-haired general in military dress blues, or the balding, innocuous-looking man in the suit. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, though only the bald man, who was sweating profusely on top of his shiny little head, seemed at all nervous.  
  
"So this happens a lot?" the general asked, loosening his tie.  
  
"Welcome to Pegasus, General," Dr. Weir replied. She looked even more tired today than when Rodney had first seen her at the group orientation.   
  
"Who let in the Hardy Boys?" The general motioned to John and Rodney.   
  
"Dr. Zelenka," Rodney puffed himself up as tall as possible. It was his right to be here, after all.  _His_  plan.  
  
"The little Czech guy? Richard, you'll have to have a word with him about age appropriate--" the general stopped mid sentence as a shadow slunk out from below them, edging towards the generator where Zelenka was still working. "Oh for crying out loud!"  
  
Rodney stared in blatant horror as, despite Ford's efforts to pull the scientist away, the cloud engulfed them both in a shower of sparks, throwing them clear of the generator, unconscious. The general looked ready to move after them, and another scientist was shouting from the door that the shadow creature had drained the battery on the transport. But before anyone could do anything, John was rushing forward in a brilliant flash of green, just like the Green Lantern. He threw himself to his knees next to Zelenka and Ford, feeling for a pulse and extending the shield to flash around them.   
  
Rodney had just a second to murmur to himself about John's unmanageable martyr complex when he realized that it wasn't going to be enough. Once the creature drained the generator, they'd all be small biological power sources. Or it'd attach itself to the gate and drain the facility's main power supply. Then it was only a matter of time before it ate through everything and all the people on this base - the last of their kind.  
  
What would the Green Lantern do? What would  _Batman_  do? Rodney took a deep breath and pelted down the stairs, dodging out of the way of the general when he tried to grab him. "John!" he shouted, "Extend the field around me."  
  
He didn't wait for the comforting sheen of green light before he threw himself into the cloud, trusting John to protect him. The shield couldn't extend far, but he just had to get to the generator, spare no time to marvel at the shiny underwater quality of the light within the seemingly-black storm. He hadn't bothered to try out for baseball or basketball, but even though he felt the shield stretching, heard John's scream of pain as it pulled to its limit, he picked up the generator and threw it as hard as he could into the gaping mouth of the wormhole.  
  
The strange dark luminescence drained from the room as the shield flickered grean around him and finally went out. Behind him, John had collapsed on top of the bodies of a soldier and a scientist, the green of the power broach dropping neatly from his chest.  
  
The general, who was really starting to get on Rodney's nerves, started a slow clap.  
  
"General O'Neill, who are these kids and where are their parents?" the balding bureaucrat asked.  
  
"That, Richard," O'Neill replied, clapping 'Richard' on the back, "is an excellent question. I look forward to your report on the subject."  
  
Rodney ignored the bald guy's spluttering, focusing instead on where John was pushing himself to his feet with a smirk. "Who's got the hero-complex now?" His arm wrapped comfortably around Rodney's shoulder as they made their way up the stairs to what might be either a commendation or a really big grounding. Rodney couldn't help but smile. He was stranded in a new galaxy in an alien city in the middle of the ocean, but at least he'd made a friend.


End file.
